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THE 



Farm-Yard 




OF JOTHAM: 



AN ACCOUNT OF THE FAMILIES AND FARMS 
OF THAT FAMOUS TOWN. 



BY 



GEORGE B. LORING, 

United States Commissioner of Agriculture 



Il^LUSTRATED. 



i;kcOIVI> EDITION. 




BOSTON: 
BROOKS, AND COMPAN 

1881. 







Copyright, 1876. 
By LOCKWOOD, BROOKS, & CO. 






DEDICATION 



To the sacred and blessed memory of her zvhose love 
warmed, and virtues elevated, and rare powers and 
attainmoits dignified, my Jiome, and who encouraged 
and strengthened me in every zvortliy endeavor, dur- 
ing all the happy years of our life together; and 
to the daughter she left iji my care, and who is 
the pride of my heart, I dedicate affectionately this 

volume. 

G. B. L. 





PREFACE. 



W H EN" I was induced to furnish the " Boston Globe " with 
a series of articles on agricultural subjects, I determined to 
present my views, if possible, in a form which would arrest the 
attention of every reader interested in the homes and farms 
and institutions and social habits of the American people. 
While I have called the practical farmers of an educated com- 
munity, therefore, to the discussions, I have endeavored to 
portray the society in which they live, and the thoughts, char- 
acter, and experience of their neighbors and friends, as well as 
of themselves ; and I have done this with the hope that I might 
inspire a love of rural life, and also furnish some useful infor- 
mation upon rural pursuits. It is undoubtedly true, that, al- 
though the importance of agriculture as an industry can never 
be lost sight of, its delicate and intricate relations to society 
are in danger of being forgotten. The deliberate business of 
applying scientific rules to the cultivation of the earth, and the 
serious business of drawing a subsistence from her bosom, 
have wehnigh blinded us to the delightful associations and the 
natural beauty which belong to this primary and fundamental 
occupation. When the ancient Greeks organized their Olym- 
pian court, they gave almost the highest place to Demeter, 
the goddess of the cultivated and fruitful earth, of cornfields 
and vineyards, and at the same time the goddess of domestic 



VI PREFACE. 

joys, who not only taught men to sow and reap, but taught man 
'and woman also to unite in the work of organizing a refined 
and cultivated and happy home. Not in our own day has this 
true and charming conception been destroyed ; and I have 
endeavored to open the doors upon the refinement of thought 
and feeling which should naturally belong to our rural homes, 
and to give to the daily toil of the farmer in our Christian 
age the high and cultivated place assigned it by the most prac- 
tical as well as the most poetical people of ancient times. It is 
not the mere possession of land which has, in all ages of the 
world, made an agricultural people strong and enduring ; but it 
is the sturdy characteristics and ardent attachments growing 
out of such possession which constitute that vital force of a 
nation so much admired by the careful observer and student of 
history. And it has been left for us to prove that an indepen- 
dent and responsible community of small landholders, living in 
a land of social and civil equality, and tilling their own soil, 
stands foremost among those who are distinguished for intelli- 
gence and self-assertion, for devotion to human rights and 
progress, and for a lordly determination to preserve their own 
prerogatives. With this estimate of American agriculture I 
have written this book. 

Lest the reader should be confused by any apparent anachro- 
nisms in the essays and discussions, I desire to state that all 
theories and statistics contained in the debates have been 
brought down to the present time, — an act of justice to the 
Club and of benefit to the public, for which I have no doubt 

both will be grateful. 

THE AUTHOR. 



CONTENTS. 



—4 

PAGE 

PREFACE V 

INTRODUCTORY i 

The Town of Jotham. — The Hopkins Family. — The Old Farm 
and the New Barn. 

THE FIRST MEETING. 

Organization of the Club 12 

The Thanksgiving. — Mr. Hopkins chosen President of the Club. 
— His Speech of Acceptance. 

SECOND MEETING. 

Cattle 25 

Mr. Howe and John Thomas commence their Labors. — Mr. 
Howe's Essay. — Mrs. Howe and Mrs. Thomas rejoice. 

THIRD MEETING. 
Cattle {Contimied) .......... 39 

Fanny Wright appears. — Dr. Parker comes upon the Stage and 
discourses on the Structure of Cattle, 

FOURTH MEETING. 

' Cattle {Continued) 52 

Dr. Parker continues. — His Opinion of Inherited Faculties and 
Characteristics. — He soars aloft and rejects Evolution. 

FIFTH MEETING. 

Cattle [Contimied] 67 

How to cut and use Fire-wood. — John Thomas discusses Cattle. — 
Swedes. — Mangolds. — Fodder-Corn. — A Controversy. — Peter 
Ilsley shows his Temper, 



vill CONTENTS. 

SIXTH MEETING. 

Cattle {Continued) 82 

John Thomas and Huldah. — Family Jars. — Peace. — Modes of 
feeding Cattle. — Charles Ingalls appears. 

SEVENTH MEETING. 

Cattle {Continued) 97 

Spring opens. — A Northeast Storm. — Disease and Weakness in 
Cows. — The Milk-mirror. 

EIGHTH MEETING. 

Fertilizers 113 

The District School. — An Educational Struggle. 

NINTH MEETING. 

Fertilizers {Continued) 128 

The Drive to the Seaside. — Dr. Parker and Clara Bell. — An 
Exciting Time followed by Repose. 

TENTH MEETING. 

Fertilizers {Continued) 142 

Charles Ingalls returns. — His Disappointment. — Mr. Howe dis- 
cusses Fertilizers. 

ELEVENTH MEETING. 

Drainage 155 

President Hopkins speaks, and. tells how he drained his Land. 

TWELFTH MEETING. 
The Hay Crop 168 

The Trials of the Schoolmaster and Clara Bell. — Imaginary Trials 
the most difficult to overcome. — Mr. Hopkins delivers a Lecture 
on the Hay Crop. 

THIRTEENTH MEETING. 

The Hay Crop {Continued) 183 

Seeding Grass lands. — Peter Ilsley debates and wanders. — Dr. 
Parker loses his Temper. 



CONTENTS. IX 



FOURTEENTH MEETING. 



The Hay Crop {Continued) 197 

A Social Breeze. — Mr. William Jones enlightens Mr. Howe. — 
Mr. Hopkins defends Clara Bell, and gives Mr. Howe some good 
Advice. 



FIFTEENTH MEETING. 

Pasture Lands 212 

Squire Wright enters the Field. — Fanny returns a Widow. — The 
Western Life. 



SIXTEENTH MEETING. 

Pasture Lands {.Continued) 227 

Dr. Parker does not understand Clara Bell. — Charles Ingalls does. 
— The Squire found to be fallible. 



SEVENTEENTH MEETING. 

Root Crops , . . 242 

Illness of the Boy. — His Recovery. — Silent Distress. — Charles 
Ingalls tells his Tale. — Clara listens. — Day breaks. 



EIGHTEENTH MEETING. 

Root Crops [Continued) 258 

Sorrow vanishes. — Human Nature returns. — Fanny tells Dr. 
Parker some Wholesome Truths. — He finds his Match. 



NINETEENTH MEETING. 

Grain Crops 274 

Political Reform. — The Grocery. — Peter Ilsley shows himself. — 
John Thomas and his Family slandered. 



TWENTIETH MEETING. 

Grain Crops [Continued) 290 

John Thomas in Trouble. — His Character assailed. — Some 
Friends desert. — The Town-Meeting. — Charles Ingalls behaves 
like a Man. — Clara Bell shines. 



CONTENTS. 



TWENTY-FIRST MEETING. 

Grain Crops {Continued) 309 

Mr. Howe slow to believe. — William Jones talks about Oats and 
Horses. — Dr. Parker continues the Debate. — Mr. Hopkins 
proves the Integrity of John Thomas. — They all rejoice. 



TWENTY-SECOND MEETING. 

Market Gardening 324 

Jim Bell's Sickness and Death. — Clara's Sorrow. — Sophronia 
Seccomb's Letter. — Mrs. Sarah Bell desires Prayers. 



TWENTY-THIRD MEETING. 

Market Gardening [Continued) 34° 

Potatoes. — Insubordination. — Peter Ilsley wants Rotation. — Co- 
operate or quit. — Inside Reform. 



THE RECESS. 

A HOT Sunday 355 

The Boy goes to Meeting. — Fanny's Suffering. — Dr. Parker con- 
soles her. — The Walk to the Lake. — The Thunder-Storm. — 
The Fire. — John Thomas and Huldah, the Christians. 

TWENTY-FOURTH MEETING. 

Market Gardening {Continued) 372 

Mr. Howe likes a Town and a Club. — Mr. Hopkins begins to 
grow old. — The Club glad to meet again. 



TWENTY-FIFTH MEETING. 

Market Gardening {Continued) 387 

Charles Ingalls as a Lawyer. — Classical Sketch of Perfidy. — John 
Thomas bewildered. 



TWENTY-SIXTH MEETING. 

Superstitions and Cranberries 402 

Charles Ingalls puts up his Sign on Friday. — Its Removal. — A 
long List of Superstitions. — Joe Dole does the Business. 



CONTENTS. XI 



TWENTY-SEVENTH MEETING. 

Small Fruits and Flowers 416 

Clara Bell and Fanny. — Clara's Ambition for Charles. — Her 
perturbed Soul. — Her Friends unequal to the Occasion. 



TWENTY-EIGHTH MEETING. 

Fruit Culture 433 

Charles Ingalls's Letter to Clara. — His City Life. — Barnes tells 
all about Fruit-Trees. — Festus comes in. 



TWENTY-NINTH MEETING. 

Fruit Culture {Continued) 447 

Charles Ligalls returns from Boston. — A New Revelation to 
Clara. — She is sorely troubled. — The Members of the Club 
philosophize. 

THIRTIETH MEETING. 
Grape Culture 462 

The Morning dawns. — Mrs. Bell steps in. — The Clouds vanish. 
— Charles returns to his Law, and Clara to her Love. 



THIRTY-FIRST MEETING. 

Implements of Husbandry 477 

Mr. Hopkins discusses Mowing-Machines, Ploughs, etc. — The 
Club disperses slowly. 



THIRTY-SECOND MEETING. 

The Smaller Animals of the Farm 495 

Dr. Parker and Margaret Ilsley. — Squire Wright in Trouble. — 
Fanny Undisturbed and Confident. 



THIRTY-THIRD MEETING. 

The Smaller Animals of the Farm {Continued) .... 514 
John Thomas and Huldah discuss the Doctor, Margaret, and 
Fanny. — The Old Se.\ton appears. — Dr. Parker and Fanny 
make an Evening Call. — The Wedding over. — Life is full of 
Promise. 



xii CONTENTS. 



THIRTY-FOURTH MEETING. 

The Smaller Animals of the Farm [Continued] .... 532 
Squire Wright's Intellectual Operations. — He discourses of 
Poultry. 



THIRTY-FIFTH MEETING. 

The Horse 549 

Mrs. Howe's Death. — Mr. Howe's Trials and Submission. — 
William Jones tells about Horses. 

THIRTY-SIXTH MEETING. 

The Horse [Continued] 567 

William Jones finishes reading the Essay of the young Medical 
Student. — Remarks about Boys. — Feeding, Stabling, Driving. 
— The Last Meeting of the Club. 

SINCE THE ADJOURNMENT. 

Tree Planting. — Mr. Hopkins's Will 584 

John Thomas and Huldah tell their Story of Mr. Howe and them- 
selves. — William Jones still drives. — Dr. Parker moralizes. — 
I take my Record and depart. 

INDEX 601 



ILLUSTRATIONS 



CHARACTERS AND SCENERY. 

Title. Designer. Engraver. Page 

The Village of Jo- 

THAM F. Latlirop Russell &" Richardsoii i 

The Hopkins Mansion " " 4 

President Hopkins . . .Katheritie Peirson W.J. Dana 13 

Rev. Mr. Howe. ..... . Rose Hawthorile Lathrop . .Russell &" Richardson 16 

Mr. and Mrs. Howe . . " " 26 

Fanny Wright J. IV. Champney John Andrew 6^ Son 39 

Dr. Parker " " 41 

President Hopkins and 

Dr. Parker Catherine Peirson W. J. Dana 51 

John Thomas and 

Huldah y. IV. Champney Russell &• Richardson 83 

Charles Ingalls " A. C. Russell 87 

Dairymaids F. Lathrop John Andrew 6^ Son 105 

A Herd ok Cattle " Henry Marsh in 

The District School- 
House Katherine Peirson W. J. Dana 114 

Clara Bell J. W. Champney John Andrew 6^ So7z 1 19 

A Sea View, Beach, ETC. " Russell Ss' Richardson 133 

The Haymakers W. J. Dana 174 

Mr. William Jones. ..C. A. Barry " 198 

Squire Wright J. W. Champney Russell ^^ Richardson 2I2 

Squire Wright's Office " John Andrezo ^^ Son 21t, 

A Western Town " ^V. y. Dana 216 

Hillside Pasture and 

Cattle C. A. Barry IV. J. Dana 233 

Charles Ingalls and 

Clara Beli Katherine Peirson " 250 

The Grocery and its 

Habitues J. IV. Champney S. S. Kilburn 277 

A Cornfield " John Andrexv &= Son 282 

The Town-Meeting. .. " John Filmer 300 



xiv ILLUSTRATIONS. 

Title. Designer. Engraver. page 

Jim Bell's Home Rose Hawthorne LatJirop . .JoJui Andrew &= Son 325 

Fanny and the Doc- 
tor BY THE Lake J. IV. Cliainpjiey " 363 

Clara Bell and her 

Home Rose Hawthorne Lathrop . . John Andrew 6^ Son ^I'J 

The Orchard y. IV. Chajnp)iey John Filuier 439 

Dr. Parker and Mar- 
garet viewing the 
Ruins J. IV. Champney " 496 

The Old Sexton " Rtissell &= Richardson i,i6 

Dr. Parker's Wedding " John And>-ezu 6^ Son 522 

Funeral Procession . .Rose Hazvthoriie Lathrop . . IV. J. Dana 549 

The Horse and his 
Rider, after Bewick " 568 

Dr. Parker at the 

Lakc Rose Hawthorne Lathrop . , '^ 596 



AGRICULTURAL. 

A Shorthorn Bull 32 

Shorthorn Cow , 33 

A Devon Bull 36 

A Devon Cow 37 

An Ayrshire Bull 45 

An Ayrshire Cow 46 

Hereford Bull 57 

Hereford Cow 59 

Jersey Bull ■ 62 

Jersey Cow 64 

Tools for Drainage E. Forbes W. J. Dana 162 

Drain Tile " " 163 

A Hotbed " " 380 

Deep Tiller Swivel Plough 480 

Telegraph Plough 480 

Eagle Plough 481 

Harrow 483 

Horse-Hoe . 484 

Seed-sower 484 

Expanding Cultivator 485 

Wood's Eagle Mower W. J. Dana 487 

Horse Hay-Rake " 489 

Root-cutter 49° 

corn-sheller 49° 

Cotswold Ram E. Forbes VV. J. Dana 506 



ILLUSTRA TIONS. 



XV 



CoTSWOLD Ewe E. Forbes W.J. 

Southdown Ram 

Southdown Ewe 

Merino Ram 

Merino Ewe 

Chester County Swine 

Suffolk Swine 

Group of Asiatic Fowls 

Group of French and English 

Fowls 

American Trotting Horse 



hnckaver. Page 

Dana 506 

508 
508 
510 
510 
528 
529 
Russell &^ Richardson 535 



539 
W. y. Dana 557 



THE 



FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 



INTRODUCTORY. 

THE TOWN OF JOTHAM. -THE HOPKINS FAMILY. — THE OLD FARM 
AND THE NEW BARN. 

JOTHAM, as it is often called, is one of the oldest towns 
in New England. It was settled by a few Puritanically 
inclined families from the old country, who came here 
about the middle of the seventeenth century, on the invita- 
tion of those who had been interested in the settlement 
of Boston, and had discovered the location of the best 




THE VILLAGE OK JOTHAM. 



farming lands in Eastern Mas.sachusetts. Jotham is a 
fertile township, charmingly situated upon the swelling' 
hills which surround a large and picturesque pond, large 
enough to be called a lake but for the modesty of the peo- 



2 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF J 07 HAM. 

pie whose homes and farms occupy its shores. The vil- 
lage has hidden itself in one of the valleys between the 
hills, through which runs the meandering outlet of the 
lake ; and here stand even now the old meeting-house, 
whose worshippers have never wandered away from the 
faith of the fathers ; and the post-office, with a few letters 
waiting in the window " to be called for" ; and the stage- 
tavern, with its piazza, once alive with travellers and driv- 
ers ; and the "store," whose well-worn floor and creaking 
counters could tell many a tale of sharp trade and hot 
debate ; and the imposing dwelling of the prosperous phy- 
sician, whose father and grandfather and great-grandfather 
were held as high authority throughout the region ; and 
the not less imposing dwelling of the old minister, who, 
years and years ago, was settled for life, and who loved the 
fathers and mothers who are gone, and held through life 
a paternal relation to the children and grandchildren who 
remained; and the office of the " attorney-at-lavv " ; and 
the academy, with its classic drill, which no high-school 
has yet elbowed out of the way ; and the abodes of the 
prosperous mechanics, whose business it is to see that 
their neighbors are well housed and well clad, that their 
horses are well shod and their vehicles in sound and safe 
condition. It was a cheerful village, with its stately elms 
standing here and there as sentinels, and its orchards and 
gardens and reposing door-yards, and its highways run- 
ning out countrywards between rows of maples and dis- 
appearing among the farms, and its sedate people, and its 
basking animals. In winter it was so clean and white, in 
summer it was so verdant, and in autumn so painted with 
all the hues of nature, and softened by the hazy twilight 
of the year, that it seemed to offer a retreat for all the 
weary wanderers who had become worn and exhausted on 
the hard highways of life. So charming was the spot that 
when the footsore Pilgrims reached and surveyed the land- 



INTRO D UCTOR Y. 3 

scape of their future home, they exclaimed, " It is in- 
deed the Perfection of the Lord." And so they called it 
Jotham, 

One of the earliest settlers here was Israel Hopkins. 
He was called hither by those who, in obedience to the 
requirements of the act incorporating the town, had erected 
the first meeting-house and settled the first minister. He 
was a scholar and a theologian, who had seen enough 
of hard service to ripen his practical faculties, and to culti- 
vate those talents which enabled him to get a living, and 
to give an intelligent sympathy to all about him who were 
engaged in the same useful occupation. He was settled 
for life, on a salary of twenty pounds sterling per year ; 
and he was presented with a deed of a hundred acres 
of land, selected on that side of the village where the 
slopes were the warmest and the soil the most fertile, and 
the meadow on the river-bank the most luxuriant, — where 
the north wind was shut off, and the sweet south warmed 
and cheered every living thing. On the most charming 
of these slopes the Rev. Mr. Hopkins built his house, — 
a modest structure, two stories high in front and one story 
in the rear, turning its broad open face to the sunniest 
quarter of the heavens, and inviting all the sweetest influ- 
ences of nature to fill it with cheer and comfort. As time 
went on and the parochial duties became familiar, and the 
surplus of the modest little salary accumulated, the farming 
began to increase. The fields were well enclosed and well 
tilled. The barn groaned replete with crops. The cattle 
multiplied and improved. The elm-tree, which had been 
planted at just a respectful distance in front of the house, 
began to look down upon the roof, and to sway and toss 
its arms in the wild frenzy of the storm. The orchards 
grew into maturity and fruitfulness. The boys and girls 
reached that period of life when all New England boys 
and girls toil and teach alternately. And the foundation 



THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 



was laid of that combination of theology and agriculture, 
that admirable domestic organization based on books and 
land, that union of intelligence and labor which made the 




rural homes of the old New 
England cleigy so chaimmg 
m the early da}s, and made 
them, moi cover, the nur- 
series of high moral and in- 
tellectual qualities, whose 
influence is not yet lost 
upon the country. 

When Mr. Hopkins had 
faithfully discharged his duty 
for more than half a century 
I he passed away, leaving a 
good parish to be presided 
over by one of his sons, his 
eldest, who had graduated at 
Harvard, and a good inherit- 
ance of land to his family. 
For fifty years more the same 
part was performed in parish and pulpit and farm by the 
new actor, under whose wise and prudent and faithful 
management the faith and fertility of the town improved 



THE HOPKINS MANSION. 



INTROD UCTOR V. 5 

in equal degree. But here the theological line ceased ; 
and the faculties which had worked so well in the primitive 
colonial years for church and state alike turned in another 
direction ; and from that old farm went forth a generation 
or two of strong and useful men into the business of the 
commercial world, connecting their names with all the 
great enterprises which gave wealth and power to the 
republic. During this latter period the old farm suffered. 
Sometimes it was the home of an inefficient son, a feeble 
link in the family, who served only to preserve the name 
and to continue the line of inheritance. Sometimes it fell 
into the hands of tenants and threatened to return to its 
primitive wildness ; until, at last, it became deserted alto- 
gether, the undivided property of many heirs and the prey 
of many plunderers. How silent, now, were these once 
cheerful rooms ! Where in years gone by the trampling 
of a busy multitude was muffled by the well-furnished and 
home-like apartments, the footfall of the solitary intruder 
now echoed and reechoed along the dismal and deserted 
passages. The broad and massive front door, barred and 
bolted, seemed to have forgotten how to move. In one 
corner of the great rambling garret, whose rough-hewn, 
worm-eaten oak rafters told what a tough and powerful 
frame had there resisted the storms of two centuries, stood 
the narrow "pulpit orthodox" which had patiently endured 
the " apostolic blows and knocks " of the first ministerial 
Hopkins, and which had served as a sideboard since the 
old church had been torn down and the clerical cloth of 
the family had been laid aside. On the water-stained floor 
of this apartment were scattered some ancient papers : — 
an old letter written long before by a newly-married 
daughter, Lois, from her far-off home in New Hampshire, 
to her "dearest mother," Eunice; a mouse- eaten sermon 
on the sin of profanity, by the second Hopkins ; a battered 
copy of " Physiognomy," a poem, delivered before the Phi 



6 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

Beta Kappa Society of Harvard, in 1799, by Joseph Bart- 
lett ; a Fourth of July oration in Boston, dehvered in 1804, 
by Dr. Danforth ; and a worm-eaten little pamphlet printed 
in Concord, in 1793, entitled " The History of Jack Nips," 
in which Jack sets forth by announcing, " I cannot say that 
my father was a Hittite and my mother an Ammorite ; but 
my father was a Presbyterian, and my mother a high- 
flying, separate New Light." Outwardly, the old house 
looked dingy enough. The untrodden door-stone had sunk 
into the earth, and had accumulated moss. The outbuild- 
ings were in decay. The barn was one piece of " ventila- 
tion gossamer," like Sam Weller's hat. But the sunny 
greensward before the door was as bright as ever, the land- 
scape was as beautiful, and the ancient elm tree had grown 
into gigantic proportions, towering far above the great 
sloping roof, and rejoicing in a green and vigorous and 
commanding old age. As for the farm, it was in perfect 
repose ; not a field was cultivated, not a wall was " laid 
up," not a pasture was occupied, not a fruit-tree was 
trimmed, not a drain was open. 

It was in this condition when Timothy Hopkins left his 
counting-room at the foot of State Street, one morning in 
early spring, to visit the old homestead. He had hardly 
thought of it for years. He left it in early life, the bright- 
est and bravest boy of that generation of Hopkinses, and 
erelong became absorbed in the business of the metrop- 
olis. He married Mary Johnson, the tall and graceful and 
beautiful daughter of a neighboring farmer, the girl whose 
rich voice had mingled with his own in singing-school and 
choir, and by whom all his rustic chivalry had been in- 
spired, and his heart had been warmed on the bashful walk 
from evening meeting to her humble home. And for a few 
years the annual Thanksgiving had drawn them to the 
family meetings and the church choir at Jotham. But his 
own family was scattered, and the parent Johnsons had 



INTRO D UCTOR Y. ^ 

passed away ; and there was no longer temptation for him 
in house or church, or on hillside, or on the bosom of the 
lake. His wife, too, was now gone to her rest ; his two 
sons were established in business in remote cities ; and he 
was alone bearing along that heavy and leaden weight, 
which the hard and inelastic routine of mercantile life lays 
upon the shoulders of its successful devotees. His fortune 
was made, and his health was gone. His old home was 
almost forgotten, when on this bright spring morning there 
came upon him a flood of memories of the past, that strange 
and unaccountable return of the pictures of early life, 
that irresistible charm of remembered youth, which out- 
shines all mature success and obliterates all the toil and 
time which have bedimmed it ; and he closed his books 
locked his counting-room, and started for that land of his 
fathers which was now the brightest spot to him on earth, 
for the hour at least. 

It was long past high noon when Mr. Hopkins reached 
Jotham. He left the, train at a small station two or three 
miles from the village, this being the best railroad accom- 
modation which the town had been able to secure. The 
beauty of the day tempted him to walk to his destination, 
and he set forth with unusual elasticity and vigor under 
the influence of his native air. The face of nature was 
rejoicing in the earliest touch of summer. The trees were 
clad in their first soft verdure, and the fields and pastures 
were already carpeted with green. The plough was busy 
on all the warm and early lands, and the fresh and healing 
smell of the newly upturned earth was like balm to his 
lungs, poisoned as they were by the heat and dust and 
pestilent air of the crowded city. The oxen moving slowly 
along the furrow, in the declining hours of a long and 
weary day, the lagging team toiling with its heavy load 
afield through the warm and hazy atmosphere, the chirp 
and hum of reviving animal life in the watercourses, the 



8 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

mingled songs of the spring birds, the momentary lull and 
silence, the familiar landscape, — all carried him back to the 
days when his young frame knew no weariness, and when 
the toil of this rural life was a pastime, and its pleasures 
were all he asked. He was restored as he walked to the 
scenes of his youth, and as the effects of a long life of 
intense labor fell from him, he found himself surrounded 
by that group of friends whom he knew and loved when 
he set forth in life. 

As he reached his old home, now silent and deserted, 
he listened for a moment for those voices so long hushed, 
and seemed to hear the sweet tones which blessed that 
evening walk beneath the maples, when his broken words 
of confession were lifted into confidence and joy by the 
sweet and life-giving whisper of his first and only love. 
But he was at home, without father or mother or brother 
or sister or wife. The short dream was over ; the man of 
business had returned to the realities, and before night had 
settled down upon the old farm he .had determined to de- 
vote the remainder of his years to the rural calling of his 
fathers. 

It is no easy matter to reorganize and restore a long- 
neglected farm, and Mr. Hopkins knew it. But the same 
faculties which had enabled him to plan a new voyage, or 
rearrange an old one, when he was securing his fortune 
and placing himself foremost among the merchants of the 
day, served him most faithfully and usefully now that he 
had turned his attention to the land. His title to the 
estate was soon established ; and before summer had fairly 
opened upon him he had found a competent and honest 
foreman, had made the old house habitable for a season at 
least, had purchased his cows and horses and oxen and 
implements of husbandry, had planted such lands as were 
available, had " topped " the walls for temporary safety, 
had repaired the sheds and outbuildings so that they might 



INTRO D UCTOR V. 9 

answer for a time, had torn down the old and worn-out 
barn, and had begun a new one, which he proposed to have 
ready for the hay crop, such as it might be, in the early 
part of July. 

And now came his first perplexing question. It was 
easy enough to " top " the walls, and purchase cattle such 
as the market afforded, and supply himself with tools, and 
seeds, and commercial fertilizers, and Suffolk pigs, and 
Plymouth Rock fowls, and brush up the old house, and 
plough and plant ; but it was not so easy to build a barn. 
The whole neighborhood was interested. There were many 
model barns. His old friend Torrey had built an octago- 
nal barn ; but neither Torrey nor his friends seemed to 
like it, and Mr. Hopkins certainly did not. His former 
legal adviser had erected a handsome, well-proportioned 
structure, large enough, it would seem, for a hundred-acre 
farm, but it had cost $ 10,000, and would hold but five 
horses, four cows, and the family carriages ; and that did 
not seem to him like business. Jones, in an adjoining 
town, had built a long barn with one end against a hill- 
side, so that he could drive in under the roof; but Hopkins 
thought there was a great deal of room wasted by this 
plan. His brother-in-law, Johnson, was very much opposed 
to barn cellars, but he thought this was a mere prejudice. 
Clark, the tavern-keeper, had so arranged his barn that 
the cattle and horses were kept in a sort of basement 
under ground, while all the building above the sills was 
devoted to hay and grain and tools and implements ; but, 
he had observed that those cattle and horses were the most 
healthy and thrifty which were kept above ground, with 
good light and ventilation and a dry air ; and he made up 
his mind that a cellar was no more a fit abode for his horse 
than for himself The subject was largely discussed in the 
tavern, in the field, at church on Sunday, at the last quilt- 
ing-party of the season, in the store, at the post-office ; 



.10 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

and the old farmers wisely observed that, " whichever way- 
was best, Hopkins would probably build a gimcrack sort 
of a thing which would indicate that he had more money 
than wisdom." 

But Mr. Hopkins had learned in his youth that a simple 
building, about forty-two feet wide and of such length as 
is required, with a driveway from one end to the other, is 
the most convenient design for a barn yet adopted. With 
this plan, the cattle may be supplied with plenty of room, 
and they may stand near the hay. Space is furnished for 
closets, stalls, etc., in convenient localities. Over the 
driveway can be constructed a movable scaffold, if de- 
sired. The building can be easily aired, and the frame 
can be provided with ease and economy. And so the 
barn was built, — an ample structure, with bands twelve 
feet in length, posts seventeen feet, driveway twelve feet 
wide, each band devoted to a specific purpose, and 
the entire length being seventy-two feet. On one side 
were stanchions for the cattle, — stanchions being the 
best mode of confining them. On the other side were 
pens, rooms, a compact stable occupying two bands, and 
stalls for oxen. Above all was the vast receptacle for hay, 
extending from the level of the mow-beams to the ridge- 
pole ; and under all was a well-enclosed cellar for ma- 
nure, and a smaller cellar set apart for roots. Mr. Hop- 
kins said he could make this barn as long as he wished, 
without injuring its symmetry or convenience, by additional 
bands. The barn was covered with rough clapboards, so 
that the walls might be comely without being too tight, 
and the whole was surmounted by a cupola. It was a 
barn which every thriving farmer could afford to build 
without drawing too much money from his active business. 
And Mr. Hopkins said he felt in duty bound to conduct 
his farm as a farmer should. If he were ornamenting an 
estate, he said, it would be one thing ; but to manage a 



INTRO D UCTOR Y. 1 1 

farm so as to set a good example to the agricultural com- 
munity is another and a very different thing. 

The first year of Mr. Hopkins on his farm was as pros- 
perous as could be expected. His pastures did very well. 
His hay crop was large enough to feed two horses, a yoke 
of oxen, three cows, and two yearling heifers through the 
winter ; not much, it is true, for a good hundred-acre farm, 
but pretty well for an exhausted and abandoned one. His 
crops were good. Three acres of corn gave him one 
hundred and sixty bushels ; an acre of Swedes, five hun- 
dred bushels ; and three acres of potatoes, seven hundred 
bushels. 

He had made a beginning ; had established satisfactory 
relations with his foreman ; had set the old house in order, 
and had prepared to build a new one in the spring ; had 
proved himself to be a good and neighborly citizen ; and 
had so secured the confidence of his townsmen that when 
he proposed to organize for weekly meetings through the 
winter The Farm-Yard Club of Jotham, they readily 
joined him, took part in the discussion, and made up their 
minds to devote their brains as well as their hands to the 
business of farming. 



12 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 



THE FIRST MEETING. 

ORGANIZATION OF THE CLUB. 

THE THANKSGIVING. —MR. HOPKINS CHOSEN PRESIDENT OF THE 
CLUB. —HIS SPEECH OF ACCEPTANCE. 

1 HE first season of Mr. Hopkins's farming was fast draw- 
ing to a close. The harvest was past, and in the suspen- 
sion of the active business of the farm, which followed the 
return of all the cattle to the barn for their winter quarters, 
and the completion of the fall ploughing, and the storing 
of the root crops and vegetables in the cellars, and the 
lively and efficient husking-party, at which the lanterns 
glimmered in the new barn, making the mysterious dis- 
tances more mysterious still, and where the old grew young 
and the young grew radiant, his mind turned to his com- 
mercial duties once more and to his old haunts in the city. 
The counting-room had not been entirely deserted during 
the summer and autumn, it is true, but the visits had 
grown less and less frequent, and the old confidential clerk 
had learned that the business of the house was gradually 
closing up, and that he was slipping more and more into 
the position of a trustee and manager of the accumulated 
and invested property. But his old companions Mr. Hop- 
kins had not forgotten, and he did long for one look at the 
Club, and a chat with the frequenters of the Exchange, and 
a morning walk " down town " with Lepine the banker 
and Frisbie the broker. He was pleased, moreover, with 
the thought that he would now appear among those old 
cronies as more or less of a hero, at any rate as a philos- 



THE ORGANIZATION. 



13 



opher and an intimate friend of Nature with all her mys- 
teries. He knew they would joke him about his potatoes, 
and ask him how early in the morning he milked his cows. 
But then he also knew that there would be a little envy 
underneath the jibes, and he felt a natural American pride 
in his position as a landholder and tiller of the soil ; and 




PRESmENT HOPKINS. 



so he went to the city, and the old clerk was glad to see 
him ; and the soft-coal fire was pleasant in the counting- 
room grate ; and the Club was social ; and the deferential 
interest with which his account of his agricultural experi- 



14 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

ence was received by his old city-born mercantile com- 
panions was quite elevating to his mind and heart. But a 
few days satisfied him, and he longed to return to his 
farm, where the labors of the winter had already begun. 
Somehow or other, he had got up an interest in the cattle, 
and the spending of his crops, and the plans for his house, 
and the preparation for the fertilizing and planting of the 
next season. He thought of the wood-fire in the wide, 
open fireplace of the ancestral parlor. He sighed for the 
bracing air. So he invited Lepine and Frisbie and the 
venerable clerk to come down and spend Thanksgiving 
with him, summoned his two sons to join them, and turned 
his steps homeward. 

The holiday season of the Puritan was over ; that day 
of psalms and anthems, and family festivals, and joyful 
reality for the young, and sad memories for the old ; that 
day, when all the sweet faces of the departed return and 
soften the domestic circle ; that day, born of religious 
gratitude for even the small blessings which attended the 
hard and primitive life of the fathers ; the only holiday 
known in New England for more than a century and a 
half ; — the day was over, and the friends whom Mr. Hop- 
kins had called to enjoy his rural ho.spitalities, and envy 
his rural treasures, were gone. Lepine had questioned 
the profits of the business ; Frisbie had repeatedly thanked 
Heaven that all men were not farmers ; the two sons had 
wondered how much money the " old gentleman " would 
be likely to spend on the farm ; the old clerk had valiantly 
approved of all he saw, and expressed his admiration of 
the wisdom of his employer : they had all strolled up and 
down the barn, charmed with the deer-like heads and mild 
eyes of the cows, and especially enamored of the long and 
sweeping tails of Jim and Billy, the two farm-horses ; they 
had listened to the anthem, " Before Jehovah's Awful 
Throne," sung by a platoon of bass, four tenors, five coun- 



THE ORGANIZATION. 15 

ters, and an angelic host of rosy trebles, accompanied by a 
clarionet, bass-viol, and bassoon ; they had rejoiced in the 
dinner, rejoiced in the fireside evening-chat, rejoiced in 
the wood-fire, rejoiced in the comfortable beds, rejoiced in 
the winter landscape, rejoiced in the enthusiasm and sen- 
sible designs of their host, and had gone on their way 
rejoicing to the city, with its commonplace duties and glit- 
tering pleasures. 

And now it was time to organize the Club. The Rev. 
Mr. Howe, the parish minister, had warmly urged it, and 
had even gone so far as to speak of Mr. Hopkins as one 
of the benefactors of the age for having suggested it. 
John Thomas, a shrewd, vigorous, inquiring, sagacious, and 
prosperous farmer on the north side of the pond, antici- 
pated much benefit from its deliberations. Peter Ilsley, 
who sold milk from his farm, thought he should undoubt- 
edly be enlightened by the discussions. William Jones, 
who had bred two or three good colts, and believed a man 
might draw a prize every time in this business, if he only 
knew enough, was anxious to debate the " breeding and 
rearing of horses." Phineas Barnes, who divided his time 
between his blacksmith's shop and a little patch of straw- 
berries and pear-trees, desired to know more about fruit. 
And they all agreed that, with weekly meetings for discus- 
sion in the houses of the members, and a few public lec- 
tures in the vestry, the Club might be made one of the 
most useful and interesting institutions in the town. Even 
the schoolmaster, a student from Dartmouth, who had left 
his father's farm to prepare himself for the law and public 
life, and was engaged for ten weeks to keep the " town 
school," requested the privilege of joining the association. 
And so he did. 

On the Wednesday after Thanksgiving, at seven o'clock 
in the evening, those farmers who were desirous of joining 
the Club assembled at the house of Mr. Hopkins. There 



i6 



THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 



were twenty-two persons present, and they proceeded at 
once to organize the association. The Rev. Mr. Howe 
called the meeting to order, and remarked that he had 
been induced to appear on the occasion by his desire to 
encourage, in every way, the education of the people of the 

town. It was true that 
his mind was led in a 
direction entirely differ- 
ent from that proposed 
by the practical men who 
had assembled there, but 
he felt assured that it 
was to an intelligent and 
thoughtful community, a 
community ready to ap- 
ply their best intellectual 
forces to the practical 
business of life, and anx- 
ious to explore all the 
laws by which they were 
to be guided in their 
work, that he could most 
effectually appeal in his sacred calling. And he congratu- 
lated the farmers present that, while the manufacturer and 
the mechanic were obedient to a plan laid down for them 
by the ingenuity of others, the tiller of the soil explored his 
own paths, and was called upon for the continual exercise 
of his own wisdom and skill, in ascertaining and applying 
the best methods in his occupation. He said he felt con- 
fident that he expressed the unanimous sentiment of all 
the gentlemen present, when he thanked Mr. Hopkins for 
having returned to his ancestral acres, and having mani- 
fested such an earnest spirit of inquiry, and for having 
also displayed that warm hospitality which had opened 
his house for the first meeting of the Club. He thought 




REV. MR. HOWE. 



THE ORGAiMZATION. 1/ 

an elaborate constitution and voluminous by-laws entirely 
unnecessary, and he would therefore suggest the following 
constitution, and leave the by-laws to the common sense 
of every member of the Club. 

Article i. The Club shall be called the " Farm-yard Club of 
Jothani." 

Article 2. The officers shall consist of a President and Sec- 
retary, whose duties shall be such as are usually imposed 
upon these officers by similar associations. 

The vote upon the adoption of the Constitution was 
unanimous. Mr. Howe said: — 

And now, my friends, I take upon myself the pleasing 
duty of nominating as the presiding" officer of this Club a 
gentleman who has brought into this community those qualities 
of mind and heart which have already endeared him to all who 
know him here. His name is connected with the most impor- 
tant events in our municipal history. His return among us 
indicates the love which he bears for the high qualities of his 
ancestors, and gives assurance that his career here will be gov- 
erned by those liiotives and springs of action which come 
from an appreciation of true merit, and a determination to 
preserve an honorable ancestral reputation, and to discharge 
faithfully the duties of life. He has taken his place in our 
midst, both as learner and teacher ; and I am sure that he will 
be to all searchers after truth both a companion and a guide. I 
nominate, therefore, for the Presidency of this Club Timothy 
Hopkins, Esq., the progressive and inquiring farmer of Jotham. 

The nomination of Mr. Hopkins was approved with a 
warm and significant murmur and rustle of applause ; and, 
on the suggestion of John Thomas, Esq., the Rev. Mr. 
Howe was as cordially and unanimously chosen Secretary. 
Mr. Howe kept a good horse, the best cow in the village, 
a flock of Brown Leghorns without a false feather, and 
raised his own vegetables. He was on this account con- 
2 



1 8 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM 

siderecl most worthy of filling the office to which he was so 
unexpectedly elected. 

After an appropriate pause in which Mr. Hopkins seemed 
to be gathering strength for the occasion, and during which 
he manifested a becoming modesty, and a proper reluctance 
to assume the duties of the position assigned him, he pro- 
ceeded to deliver his speech of acceptance. 

THE SPEECH OF PRESIDENT HOPKINS. 

Had I supposed, my neighbors and friends, that the duty of 
presiding over your meetings would be placed on myself, I 
should not have been so earnest for the organization of this 
Club. I am aware that it cannot be my knowledge of agricul- 
ture which has made me, in your minds, worthy of the position; 
for I am here rather to learn than to teach. If, however, 
prompt attention to the duties of the chair, a warm interest in 
your success, a desire to direct, so far as I may, your discus- 
sions into a useful and practical channel, and a determination 
not to wander off into mere theories, and not to be misled by 
prejudice and passion, will enable me to discharge my duties 
acceptably, I think I may assure myself and you of a fair meas- 
ure of success. This shall be my share, at any rate, of our 
endeavors after instruction ; and I only ask of you, as your 
sha:re, a clear presentation of those facts and a candid elucida- 
tion of those theories upon which we hope to build up the 
business of agriculture here, and which, as practical and intel- 
ligent farmers, you can most profitably bestow upon me, an 
inquirer and learner, in return for the small service which I 
bestow upon you. 

Not, however, for myself alone, nor for this community, have 
I been active in the formation of this Club. It seems to me 
that agriculture is in a sort of transition state. It has always 
held a well-understood relation to the business of every people, 
whose social and civil system has been based on social and civil 
classification. Where labor on the land has been doomed to a 
subordinate position, either of serfdom or slavery or tenantry,. 



THE ORGANIZATION. 1 9 

and the compensation for such hibor has been small, the great 
questions of farming have been easily solved. Elihu Burritt 
tells us that in P^ngland, " men of skill and experience, who in 
America would conduct farms of their own, and could not be 
hired at any price, may be had in abundance for foremen at 
from i2S. to i6x., or from $ 3 to $4 a week, they boarding and 
lodging themselves." It is easy to see that under a state of 
things like this, agriculture simply means the cheapest possible 
production of a crop, with all the chances of finding a remuner- 
ative market, on the rule that " what is well bought is half 
sold." But when we are called on to decide the modes of farm- 
ing best adapted to a free and intelligent body of landholders, 
whose wants are many, whose social and civil obligations and 
duties are great, whose expenses, public and private, are neces- 
sarily large, we enter upon a problem which requires all the 
wisdom man possesses for its solution. It is in this connection 
that agriculture needs all the light and encouragement we can 
bestow upon it, and summons to its aid the school, the news- 
paper, the society, the club, all discussion, exhibitions, investi- 
gation by the scientist, indorsement, approval, eulogy by the ora- 
tor and the poet, examination by the statistician and publicist. 
It is a comparatively easy matter to decide how farming may be 
profitably carried on in India, China, France, Russia, and per- 
haps England. But tell the American landholder where he can 
best select his lands and how and for what purpose he can best 
cultivate them, and you have elevated agriculture at once out 
of a mere primitive occupation into the range of the highest 
enterprises to which an educated and self-governed people can 
devote themselves. No man doubts the importance of agricul- 
ture, or denies its charms. And yet it is found necessary to 
support and encourage it by every means in our power, simply 
because the effort to place it upon a sure foundation, a founda- 
tion enjoyed by more active callings, has not yet been crowned 
with success. The transition state between aboriginal agricul- 
ture and an accurate, scientific, and profitable cultivation of the 
earth is not yet passed through. And therefore for us I deem 
the first and most important question to be the selection and 
management of the farm. 



20 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOT HAM. 

The first question is not, "Does farming pay?" for every 
man knows tliat it does pay everywhere. It pays in Massachu- 
setts, and in New York, and in Ohio, and in Texas, in Ger- 
many, in Egypt, in Japan, in Cahfornia. It pays throughout 
the world. And so I think the question should be put thus : 
" Does farming pay whether you attend to it or not, and 
whether you understand it or not? " — a question so easily an- 
swered that it is unnecessary to waste time on it here. But 
behind all this lies the fundamental inquiry for us : " Where 
shall I select my farm, and how shall I manage it?" And to 
this, it seems to me, there is but one answer. It is perfectly 
evident that the agriculture which is profitable in this section, 
and is becoming more and more profitable throughout our 
country, is the cultivation of small farms for specific purposes, 
and with great care and skill, in the immediate neighborhood 
of a local market. The startling decay of farms in the remote 
and sparsely settled sections of some of the New England 
States has led many to suppose that farming is on the decline 
here, and is gradually dying out. But if we will examine the 
statistics in the case, we shall find that, while these outlands 
have failed to support a profitable husbandry, the territory lying 
contiguous to the great centres of trade and manufactures has 
more than counterbalanced the loss to the State and the com- 
munity. I know one county in this State where, while the 
amount of corn and hay and butter and cheese has declined, 
and the number of oxen and cows has diminished during the 
last ten years, the growth of market-garden crops has largely 
increased, rising from % 175,000 to more than $400,000 a year 
in this period. And so the soil of this county, and of many 
another county, and many a State similarly situated, has never 
been a source of so much profit to the owner as it is to-day. 
The day of profitable hay and grazing farms in New Eingland 
has undoubtedly passed away, and for the two reasons that they 
canngt compete with the grazing regions of the West, and that 
they have become exhausted by poor cultivation and constant 
cropping in this hard New England climate of droughts and 
frosts. But, on the other hand, the day of careful cultivation 



THE ORGANIZATION. 21 

and systematic management, and well-applied skill, has dawned 
for those who live near the large towns and cities, or have con- 
venient railroad communication, — a day of more accurate 
work and larger profits. It is the application of art which pays 
in farming, as in every other occupation. Horace Greeley 
once said to me that the best places in the world for farming 
are those countries where there is no rainfall, and man is 
obliged to resort to irrigation, in applying which he becomes 
at once superior to the accidents and caprices of the clouds, — 
a flood one day and a drought the next. And there is more 
wisdom in the statement than at first appears. It is where 
man can take matters into his own hands, and attend to them 
carefully aid systematically, that he stands the best chance to 
succeed. 

And are you sure that such a necessity as this is not fortun- 
ate for a community like ours, whose vitality, permanency, and 
success depend on the intellectual activity and the moral sen- 
sibility of the people .-' That energetic and active and watchful 
farming which is required to produce a quick crop for a tem- 
porary market is undoubtedly the farming for an inquiring, de- 
bating, reading people like ourselves. The good effect even of 
the associations which go with it should not be forgotten. Iso- 
lation is not the law of modern society. The privileges and 
opportunities of a town with its libraries, amusements, friendly 
intercourse, schools, and churches are much more highly prized 
now than formerly, when the difference between the country 
village and the far-off farm was less than it now is. The evils 
of widely scattered society have always been recognized, and 
never more than in our day. I do not forget that Jefferson de- 
clared that " great cities are great sores " ; nor can I forget, 
moreover, that one of the dangers of every people is the intel- 
lectual and moral torpor which paralyzes those scattered com- 
munities which live only on the verge of society, and are 
threatened with that " barbarism " which one of our profound- 
est thinkers once declared to be " the first danger " of our colo- 
nial fathers. It is not with anxiety, therefore, that I witness 
the gradual gathering of our farmers around the towns, but 



22 THE FARM- YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

rather with the assurance that it will \fork in every way for their 
prosperity and advancement. I congratulate myself that the 
farm which, on account of family associations and the memories 
of my youth, has drawn me hither is located within the reach 
of the social influences of this town, and also within easy ac- 
cess to a railroad and a market. I am confident that if I suc- 
ceed in bringing it h;3ck to its early condition of prosperity, \t 
will be on account or its fortunate location And were I to be 
asked by an enterprising young man just entering upon an 
agricultural career, and determined to devote himself to that as 
a means of subsistence, where he had better establish himself, 
whether on the prairies of the West or the cotton lands of the 
South or among the valleys of New England and the Middle 
States, I should advise him to choose his home as near an en- 
terprising and thriving business community as possible, and to 
select his lands with reference to their evident capacity to pro- 
duce what the market of that community might require. I have 
never known a man to fail who was guided by this principle. 
It has made the fortunes of hundreds and thousands around 
the great manufacturing centres of New England, and is rapidly 
enabling the Western farmer to find his market near home, and 
to escape the expense of long transportation and the fluctua- 
tions which always attend the great staples of trade. 

Of the management of the farm it is more difficult to speak 
than of the selection. I remember reading, many years ago, 
that Edmund Burke, after some years of unfortunate agricultural 
experience on his farm at Beaconsfield, declared that it required 
more judgment, foresight, and prudence to carry on a farm than 
to transact any other business on earth. Had he left his brill- 
iant career as a statesman to engage in commerce or manufac- 
tures, he would undoubtedly have said the same thing of them. 
It is never easy to preserve the judgment unbiased, and to keep 
the foresight undimmed, in the practical affairs of life, where the 
promises and hopes are at work to elate and mislead. This is 
true of the merchant sending his ships to sea, of the manufac- 
turer converting his raw material into a marketable fabric, and 
of the farmer committins: his seed to the earth and waitinsr for 



THE ORGANIZATION. 23 

the fulfilment of the promises. I always found in the business 
to which I have devoted most of my life, and in which I have 
been blessed with an unusual share of prosperity, that it was 
necessary for me to look at things just as they were and not as 
I wished them to be. I could never make a market, I could 
only occupy one already made. The only instance I remember 
of successful mercantile adventure against and in spite of the 
natural demands ot a market, was the invoice of warming-pan^ 
to the West Indies by Lord Timothy Dexter, in which, by a 
sudden reversal of the natural law, the market met him, not he 
the market. I see no reason why the rule of life, which worked 
so well in the business of the city, should not also work well in 
the business of the country. I learned also to let non-essentials 
alone. I have known many a man to devote himself to statis- 
tics, and be swamped by figures, because he allowed them to 
shove his judgment and common-sense out of the way. Men of 
figures and marginal notes alone I am always wary of. And so 
I imagine that he who spends his time in analyzing the different 
effects of turnips and potatoes on the animal economy, well 
knowing that both are nutritious and palatable to cattle, and 
devotes himself to counting the curls around a cow's tail, un- 
mindful of, and perhaps incapable of, comprehending the gen- 
eral outline and quality and thrift and structure of the animal, 
or the character in her eye, will hardly reach the point of being 
a great farmer ; he may be a fussy one, but I do not think he 
will be a great one. I have also noticed that the exercise of 
mere taste and fancy alone is rarely profitable. In order to 
succeed you must be governed somewhat by the circumstances 
by which you are surrounded. It would undoubtedly be pleas- 
ant and sensational to send a steam-yacht on a fishing voyage 
to the Grand Banks, but it would in all probability be highly 
unprofitable. I wish every farm in New England could carry 
Shorthorns, the most attractive of neat cattle, but I know they 
cannot. I think the fancy, then, should be controlled by sur- 
rounding circumstances and necessities ; and that the capacity 
of the farm and the nature of the market should guide the taste 
of the owner and seller. And finally, I would urge a good- 



24 THE FARM- YARD CLUB OF JO THAU/. 

natured and careful observation of the experience of others. 
Many a dollar hav^e I made by catching at a hint dropped by 
some old and experienced merchant, with whom I happened to 
fall in on my morning walk to my counting-room. And I warn 
you all that when 1 meet with any obstacles in my farming, I 
shall always resort to the experience of those of you who, hav- 
ing met the same obstacles, have learned how to overcome 
them. I urge upon you an open-minded disposition, a cour- 
teous confidence in each other, a love of debate, — not for the 
sake of controversy and wrangling, but for the purpose of ascer- 
taining the truth, — and an avoidance of personality, from which 
nothing but evil can come. I am much obliged to you for lis- 
tening to me so long and so patiently, considering how little 
practical knowledge 1 have to impart ; and I trust our associa- 
tion in this Club will be of benefit to us all. 

At the close of the President's speech there was a pro- 
longed rumbling of applause, subdued by the fact that the 
meeting was held in a private house ; but the satisfaction 
of the gentlemen present was too great to be concealed. 

The Chair announced that the Secretary and John 
Thomas would prepare themselves to open the discussion 
of the next meeting, and the Club adjourned. 

" He talks pretty well, don't he } " said William Jones, 
as they went out. 

"Yes,"' said Peter Ilsley, "but why didn't he tell us 
what breed of cows is the best, if he knows.? " 



CA TJ'LE. 25 



SECOND MEETING. 

CATTLE. ■ 

MR. HOWE AND JOHN THOMAS COMMENCE THEIR LABORS. — MR. 
HOWE'S ESSAY. — MRS. HOWE AND xMRS. THOMAS REJOICE. 

i HE selection of a subject for discussion by the Club 
seemed no easy task, either to the Rev. Mr. Howe, the 
Secretary, or to John Thomas, his assistant on the com- 
mittee appointed for this purpose. Before they separated 
they agreed, therefore, to meet at the minister's house on 
the following evening, to decide upon the important matter 
submitted to them. They were both getting interested in 
the Club, and they felt how necessary it was to choose a 
topic for the first debate of which all the members would 
feel the importance. Peter Ilsley had shown which way 
his mind was drifting by his parting remark. When Mr. 
Thomas reached home that evening and recounted to 
Huldah, his wife, what he had seen and heard, the duty 
which had been imposed upon him, and his agreement to 
meet the minister at his own house, in order that a good 
way might be devised for performing that duty, he was 
quite surprised to witness the genuine and beaming en- 
thusiasm with which she listened to what he had to say. 
She replenished the v/ood-fire before which she was sit- 
ting (for John Thomas owTied a wood-lot, and insisted on 
having an open wood-fire in one room of his house at 
least), waked up the waning lamp on the table by her side, 
and plied her knitting-needles with renewed energy. It 
was evident that she anticipated with quiet and womanly 



26 



THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 



instinct the enlivening influence which this little insti- 
tution might have upon her own family circle, where, 
although everything was well-ordered and peaceful, there 
was yet, as she well knew, a slight want of intellectual 
elasticity, and the cheer which goes with it. She ven- 
tured to make a suggestion ; and remembering that she 
was a good dairy-woman, and suddenly realizing what ? 
dismal place the farm would be to her without her cows,, 
she asked John why he did not propose the subject of 
Cattle, and try to settle some of the questions with regard 
to feeding which she had heard him discuss so many times 
with his neighbors, without arriving at any conclusion. 



Kf YW\ ' ii|iii|iiiiii|[p™iiii||ii«|||iiiii ■■li ijiiii 




MR. AND MRS. HOWE. 



The Rev. Mr. Howe, on his arrival home, found his wife 
also deeply interested in what was going on. She was a 
bright and refined and reposeful little woman, who having 



CA TTLE. 2y 

graduated at a normal school, notwithstanding the wealth 
of her family, was spiced and invigorated with a flavor of 
authority, and of positive and undeniable views and infor- 
mation. She had just laid aside "The Life of Mary 
Ware " when Mr. Howe came in, and her mind was so 
aglow with the character of this heavenly woman and her 
divine husband, that she was only too glad of an oppor- 
tunity to aid and encourage her own partner in all his 
endeavors to cultivate the little community into which 
they had been thrown. She listened to his account of the 
meeting at Mr. Hopkins's, applauded his opening speech, 
and wondered at the knowledge and wisdom displayed by 
the President in his elaborate address of acceptance ; and 
she warmly and sympathizingiy suggested that now and 
then she and her female friends would be glad to partici- 
pate in the deliberations of the Club. She felt sure it 
would be a useful institution, and would bring the pastor 
into new and valuable and substantial relations to his 
people, in which both parties might be greatly benefited. 
And when she learned that Mr. Howe was Chairman of 
the committee appointed to select the subject for dis- 
cussion, she too remembered what a debt of gratitude she 
owed to her dumb companions in her domestic economy, 
and she proposed that their management should receive 
the earliest attention of the agricultural investigators of 
Jotham. So far as the subject went, therefore, Mrs. Howe, 
Mrs. Thomas, and Peter Ilsley all seemed to agree. 

It took but little time for the committee to decide upon 
their report. And when, on the following week, the Club 
met for a second time at the house of Mr. Hopkins, the 
following suggestions were unanimously adopted, viz. : 

1. That the subject should be " Cattle : How to Select and 
How to Manage Them." 

2. Inasmuch as a debate is always guided largely by the 
opening speech, and a well-prepared statement is very impor- 



28 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

tant, the Secretary shall take it upon himself to prepare and 
present an essay upon the subject under discussion. 

3. That in all cases, wherever it is possible, the deliberations 
of the Club shall be opened with a paper upon some given sub- 
ject, and that all attempts to wander away from the topic pro- 
posed shall be summarily checked by the Chair. 

Mr. Hopkins had taken pains that his parlor should be 
as cheerful and engaging as possible, and the Club pre- 
sented a most agreeable circle when he called it to order, 
and announced that the Secretary would open the business 
of the meeting by reading a paper which he had prepared, 
at the request of the committee, upon the subject of Cattle. 
Mr. Howe read the following 

OPENING ESSAY ON CATTLE. 

The subjugation of the animal kingdom to the wants and 
luxuries of man constitutes one of the most interesting chapters 
in the history of practical human advancement^. In the begin- 
ning man was created " to have dominion over the tish of the 
sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle " ; and 
when by his " first disobedience " he was obliged to resign the 
enjoyment of reaping the spontaneous productions of the earth 
for an unequal contest with thorns and thistles, no decree 
went forth to release " the beasts of the field " from their pre- 
destined bondage. The " bleating flocks " which welcomed the 
dawn of creation were sacrificed to furnish the first two human 
sinners with " coats of skin," after their expulsion from Eden 
into the chilling influences of the outer world, and we are told 
that the second born on the face of the earth occupied those 
primeval hours amid new and oriental luxuriance as a " keeper 
of sheep." 

From that day to this the production and care of animals 
adapted to human wants has been one of the most important 
branches of industry ; and we have been supplied with every 
variety of rule by which we can judge of a good cow, and 
every diversity of suggestions with regard to her relations 



CA TTLE. 29 

to agriculture. Columella tells us, and we are amazed and 
amused as we read it, that a good cow should be " a tall 
make, long, with ver}' large belly, very broad head, eyes black 
and open, horns graceful, smooth, and black, ears hairy, jaw 
straight, dew-lap and tail very large, hoofs and legs moderate." 
And turning from this to general principles, we learn and be- 
lieve the old French proverb : " No cattle, no farming ; few 
cattle, poor farming ; many cattle, good farming." We accept, 
moreover, the declaration of Cato, the wise and sagacious 
Roman, who when asked, " \Vhat is the most assured profit aris- 
ing out of the land?" made answer, "To feed well"; being asked, 
" What next? " he answered, " To feed with moderation." We 
can imagine also the contrast which exists between the aborigi- 
nal production of food, which the sinewy savage practices, as 
he pursues the still more sinewy cattle across the plain, and 
even the first dawn of domestication in the management of 
animals, and the still greater contrast which exists between 
the wild and flying drover of the pampas and that calm and 
solid and impenetrable specimen of humanity who winds his 
placid way from the valley of the Tees to Smithtield Market, 
realizing as he follows his rolling and wallowing shorthorns 
the truth of the saying, " Who drives fat oxen should himself 
be fat." There is a long interval between " the five hundred 
yoke of oxen " of Job and the stupendous beeves which graze 
upon the fat pastures of England, bred and reared by rule into 
an exact estimate of each pound of flesh. And to you who are 
engaged in farming, among all the modern improvements it is 
a matter of special interest to know the processes by which the 
present breeds and races of cattle have been brought to their 
existing perfection, and how they can be preserved in their 
condition. An Ayrshire cow and a Shorthorn bullock are by 
no means the result of accident. They have been produced by 
the application of the highest and most intelligent skill, at the 
hands of the Bakewells and Parkeses and Mickles and Col- 
lings, under whose treatment, as has been truly said, " the long- 
legged, slab-sided, ill-bred oxen are metamorphosed into small- 
boned, quick-fattening Devons and Durhams " ; and the " lean. 



30 THE FARM- YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

hurdle-backed Norfolk rams become beautiful firkin-bodied 
Southdowns." We in the United States have the advantage 
of the experience and profits of these distinguished and suc- 
cessful breeders ; and it especially becomes us to inquire what 
advantage we can derive from all that they have clone. We 
must have cattle adapted to our soil and climate, cattle which 
can be profitably fed, cattle which will make the best return 
for the labor and produce bestowed upon them. 

I am aware that there is no breed of cattle universally 
adapted to the United States, or even to any one State. The 
valley of the Connecticut and the hills of Berkshire and Essex, 
in Massachusetts, differ almost as much as the valley of the 
Tees and the Highlands of Scotland. And we shall find that, 
in selecting a breed of cattle for each locality, we must be obe- 
dient to Nature, or Nature will take the matter into her own 
hands, and will bring about a certain conformity between her- 
self and the animals she is to nourish. When I tell you that 
Shorthorns have not thriven well in some parts of the New 
England States, and that Ayrshires have shown too great a 
disposition to take on fat in the rich pastures of Maryland, 
you will understand what I mean by saying that Nature will 
have her own way in these things. 

I find, also, that the necessities and the interests of every 
community generally control its industries. We may learn, 
from the statistics of cattle husbandry, to be found in the last 
census, what is most in demand in this branch of farming with 
which I am now dealing. In 1870 the number of cows in 
Massachusetts was 114,771 ; of working oxen, 24,430 ; of other 
cattle, 79,861. In Michigan the number of cows was 250,859 ; 
of working oxen, 36,400; of other cattle, 260,171. In Missis- 
sippi the number of cows was 173,890 ; of working oxen, 
58,145 ; of other cattle, 269,030. In New York the number 
of cows was 1,350,661 ; of working oxen, 64,141 ; of other cat- 
tle, 630,522. In North Carolina the number of cows was 
196,731 ; of working oxen, 45,408 ; of other cattle, 279,623. 
In Ohio the number of cows was 654,300 ; of working oxen, 
23,696 ; of other cattle, 759,221. In Pennsylvania the number 



CATTLE. 31 

of cows was 706,437 ; of working oxen, 30,048 ; of other cat- 
tle, 608,066. In Kentucky the number of cows was 247,615 ; 
of working oxen, 69,719; of other cattle, 382,993. In Iowa 
the number of cows was 369,811; of working oxen, 23,058; 
of other cattle, 644,366. In Illinois the number of cows was 
640,321; of working oxen, 19,756; of other cattle, 1,055,499. 
It will be seen from these figures how in many States the dairy 
cattle predominate, and how valuable they are even in the great 
grazing and beef-producing sections of the country. And in 
order to give still further proofs of the value of these animals 
let me submit the following figures, covering the whole coun- 
try, and bearing also upon some of our most important produc- 
tions : In 1870 the whole number of cows in the United States 
was 8,935,322; of working oxen, 1,319,271; of other cattle, 
13,566,095. Of our dairy products cheese was estimated at 
53,492,153 pounds, butter at 514,692,683 pounds, and the num- 
ber of gallons of milk sold was 235,500,599. llie value of the 
cheese was about $ 15,000,000 ; of butter, about $ 114,000,000 ; 
and of milk sold, about $ 48,000,000. On the other hand, the 
value of the animals slaughtered was $398,956,376. The esti- 
mated value of the live stock of the country w'as $1,525,276,457, 
as against $1,389,329,915 in i860. It may be interesting for 
you to know that the value of the cotton goods produced in 
1870 was $168,457,353, or $9,000,000 less than the dairy; 
and of woollen goods, $ 151,298,126, or $ 26,000,000 less than 
the dairy. 

These figures show the universal importance of the dairy, 
while they also indicate those States in which distance from the 
market and the low price of pasture lands combine to render 
grazing the most convenient as well as the most profitable 
branch of farming. In the valleys of the West and South, and 
in some parts of New England and the Middle States, beef is 
raised to a profit, every advantage being taken of a breed of 
cattle adapted to such a purpose. While, however, on the East 
and on the West, on the North and on the South, in every di- 
rection, at the fountain-head of our grain crops, before corn has 
been quadrupled on the original price of the product by long 



32 



THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 



transportation and by speculation, where the rich valleys and 
prairies of the West offer an abundant and a cheap sustenance 
for cattle, and where a propitious climate economizes food and 
labor, — while all about us beef is growing as it were spon- 
taneously, we can never expect to adopt this as an extensive 
branch of farming. 

It is the dairy, therefore, which occupies the attention of most 
of our farmers. Every man who owns land keeps a cow. The 
milk-pail is one of the first utensils provided for carrying on the 
domestic economy. The rich man is never satisfied until his 
table is furnished with milk and cream by his own animals. 
The poor man finds his establishment incomplete until he has 
added a shed for his cow ; and his farming is never perfected 
until he occupies the highway as a pasture, and gleans his win- 
ter's store of fodder from the neighboring meadows. Every 
larger farm has its dairy proportioned to its size and cul- 
tivation. And as we look over the whole northern section 
of the United States it must be apparent to every intelligent 
farmer, that he will be a true benefactor to our farming 
community who will improve our dairy stock and bring 
it to as high a degree of uniformity as possible, making all 
due allowance for diversity of climate and locality. 

Now, I have ob- 
served that, wher- 
ever in New Eng- 
land, or in fact in 
the United States, 
you may find a lo- 
cality famous for 
good cattle, the high 
quality of that stock 
hascomefrom some 
pure importation. 
More than sixty 
years ago Mr. John 
Vaughn, a liberal and intelligent gentleman, who conceived 
that England without Priestley was no place for a Christian to 




A SHORTHORN BULL. 



CA TTLE. 



33 



live in, followed that great philosopher and divine in his flight 
to our shores, and settled on the banks of the Kennebec. He 
imported the Durham cattle of that day, the improved Short- 
horns of ours ; and you may find to this day, grazing in the 
valley of that river, a large, thrifty, quick-growing, solid, massive 
breed of cattle, the indigenous Shorthorns of that region ; indi- 
genous, because they have become adapted through generations 
to that soil and climate, and are now among the most profitable 
products of the State. Go to Portsmouth and the surrounding 
towns, and you will 
find cattle of simi- ^|;_ 
lar quality and de- 
scription, the fruits 
of more recent im- 
portations; a native 
stock now, but pos- 
sessing certain char- 
acteristics, which 
they lose neither in 
succeeding genera- 
tions nor in various 
families. An im- 
portation into the valley of the Connecticut by the late Mr. Wil- 
liams has stamped the stock of that section with points of value 
seldom equalled. I had often been struck with the excellence 
of the cows in the Aroostook region, and thence to the Bay of 
Fundy, — a well-bred, hardy, dairy-looking race of animals ; and 
I soon discovered that some choice Ayrshires had been brought 
into that country. The oxen of Meredith Bridge and Lake 
Winnipiseogee, who has not admired their stately carriage, 
their rich color, their symmetry of form, their thrift, and their 
size and endurance? They are the modern Devon blood, 
mixed with the Shorthorn, and engrafted upon that soil, and 
brought to a high degree of perfection by judicious care. In 
an obscure town in Essex County, Mass., there was a remark- 
able cow, known of all men thereabouts, and distinguished for 
her outline, her dairy qualities, her beauty ; her owner said she 
3 




SHORTHORN COW. 



34 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

was English ; on inquiry I found that she descended from a 
herd of Ayrshires brought into the country many years ago, 
and now nearly extinct. There are certain sections where I 
can always furnish myself with a good cow ; and I always find 
that some enterprising farmer has imported into those sections 
valuable animals, which have fixed the type there. 

In calling your attention to the beneficial effects of intro- 
ducing pure bred cattle of the various breeds into many sections 
of our country I trust I shall not be misunderstood. Do not 
suppose that all breeds are suited to one locality, or that all 
breeds will thrive indiscriminately in all places. I would not 
be understood, moreover, as advocating a foreign breed because 
it is foreign, aware as I am that there are many breeds of cattle 
that are no more worthy of importation into this country than 
the indigenous cattle of New Hampshire or Texas would be 
worthy of being imported into Europe. 

With regard to the first of these propositions, I am confident 
that the New England farmer will find it especially important 
not to bring upon his farm any animal which will tend to de- 
teriorate under his management and feeding, both in summer 
and winter, and under the climate to which the animal will be 
exposed. Nor should he introduce any animal into his herd 
which will not tend to improve it. We cannot afford to breed 
cattle for amusement only, or for simple experiment. And it 
especially becomes us, therefore, to ascertain what type of ani- 
mal will be most likely to flourish under the rigors of our climate 
and on our short pastures. I will not undertake to designate 
the breeds which will thrive best here ; that each farmer must 
decide for himself. But in order to show how important this 
rule is, you have only to turn to the immense value of the 
Shorthorn to the Western and Southwestern farmer and gra- 
zier. It would be difficult to estimate the wealth which has 
accrued to Ohio and Illinois and Kentucky from the early 
introduction of Shorthorns, and the constant attention to their 
increase and feeding. Calculate, if you can, the difference in 
the value of one hundred pounds of beef produced on those 
luxuriant pastures and at those groaning corn-cribs, in three 



CATTLE, ^ 35 

years of growth, and one hundred pounds requiring four years 
for its production, and y^u will soon learn the vaJue of a rapidly 
maturing and large-growing animal like the Shorthorn over all 
other breeds of slower growth and smaller size. The value of 
the animals slaughtered in Illinois in 1870 was $56,718,944. 
The growing of this amount of beef in three years secures 
the profit which the farmer makes on it. The necessity for 
occupying four years in growing the same amount on animals 
of less thrift and slower maturity would undoubtedly destroy 
all the profit, and very likely place the balance on the other 
side of the account. How fortunate is it for the Illinois farmer 
that he had the Shorthorn provided for him instead of other 
breeds, which I need not mention here. The Shorthorn flour- 
ishes in Illinois as no other animal does. The average of 
a herd will undoubtedly improve there, if brought from the 
North and East, and even from England. And the introduc- 
tion of this blood into the more ordinary herds of the State 
is sure to be followed by marked improvement. That the 
New England farmer can find" a breed of animals as well 
adapted to his dairy as the Shorthorn is to the pasture and 
stall of the Western beef-grower I cannot doubt. We need here 
a medium-sized, hardy, thrifty, well-organized and well-shaped 
cow, capable of producing a large amount of milk on a com- 
paratively small amount of food, if we would feed animals to a 
profit. We can be indifferent to no single point in this business. 
Give a farmer in this town a coarse-made, delicately organized, 
unthrifty cow, with heavy head, light quarters, and capacious 
carcase, requiring thirty pounds of hay per day and two quarts 
of meal in addition to produce ten quarts of milk. Give him 
another cow of moderate size, well proportioned, of strong and 
hardy constitution, well-balanced and thrifty, and requiring 
twenty pounds of hay per day and one quart of meal, to produce 
fifteen quarts of milk. In the former there is loss ; in the 
latter there is profit. Now let the dairy farmer learn that he 
cannot create this profitable animal out of every known breed, 
nor by an indiscriminate introduction of blood into his herd. 
The beef-grower has established his type, and he is slow to 



36 



THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 



wander away from it. Let the dairy farmer fix his type, and let 
hirn preserve it with all the diligence and skill possible. I shall 
not undertake to say what that type is, for I am only engaged 
in laying down general rules. But I trust that before we aban- 
don this subject some one, expert and wise in the business, 
will describe a profitable dairy cow, so that she will be recog- 
nized by her merit and not by her blood alone. 

With regard to the 
second point, — that 
a breed may not al- 
ways be considered 
valuable because it 
is foreign, — I urge 
upon you the most 
careful discrimina- 
tion. Many so- 
called breeds of 
cattle have won a 
very fair reputation 
by their special adap- 
tation to the locality 
in which they are found, and by their success there. They 
have apparently grown into this by obedience to nature about 
them rather than to any direction given them by man. The 
strong limbs and heavy muscles of the Swiss cattle, for in- 
stance, are undoubtedly the result of climbing the mountain 
heights, where the best pastures lie. The coarse, heavy, and 
enervated physical organization of some of those breeds which 
have grown for generations on the fat lowland pastures, are a 
natural product of the soil and climate, under whose influence 
they and their ancestors have lived. And these animals are 
valuable, each in its own locality. But man, in such instances 
as these, has done but little work. He has made no imprint 
upon the breed, has by his skill engrafted upon it none of 
those faculties and qualities which are especially useful to him, 
and which he desires to transmit. It is the really artificial 
breeds, those which have been shaped and organized for speci- 




DEVO.N BULL. 



CA TTLE. 



37 



fie purposes by breeding and feeding which are most useful in 
themselves, and have the strongest power for improvement when 
mixed with others. 

Of the best methods of preserving and transmitting these 
artificial and acquired faculties, when they have once been 
secured, of the best modes of selecting anima's for specific 
purposes, of the manner of feeding and the quality of food 
best adapted to 
develop the ani- 
mals, young and 
old, for any par- 
ticular purpose, I 
do not propose to 
speak this even- 
ing. These are 
questions which 
belong to the prac- 
tical farmer, who 
can give his own 
experience, or to 
the scientist, who 

can point out the laws of the animal economy which the 
farmer must obey if he would succeed. I would recommend 
to the Club that these subjects be assigned to competent 
persons for their investigation, and that the results of their 
inquiries and observation be laid before us. With this intro- 
ductory and general treatment of the question, I submit the 
matter to the Club. 




A DEVON cow. 



When the Rev. Mr. Howe sat down Peter Ilsley arose, 
and in a most impressive manner asked the reverend gen- 
tleman if he would be kind enough to tell him "what was 
good for the garget." 

Mr. Howe replied that he could not tell, and suggested 
that a question like that belonged to another stage of the 
debate. 

" Mr. Chairman," said Moses Person, " I bought a cow, 



38 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

many years ago ; she was a three-year-old when I bought 
her, had had one calf, and was coming in again in the 
spring. I bought her just after Thanksgiving, about this 
time of the year. I wintered her on run hay. I had n't 
any turnips, and meal was high. She wintered well, and 
calved about the middle of May. She was a line-backed 
cow, and I turned her out to grass about the ist of June. 
I made up my mind that I would raise some millet for her, 
or some barley and oats mixed to be cut green, as I had 
heard of soiling, and I wanted the manure ; so I thought 
I would try what I had seen recommended, and I sowed 
an acre — " 

Here Mr. Hopkins reminded Mr. Person of the sugges- 
tion of the committee with regard to the speakers confining 
themselves to the subject under debate, and mildly endeav- 
ored to draw him back to the question. 

" But the cow was breachy," said Mr. Person, " and I 
thought, perhaps, Parson Howe could tell me how to stop 
her." 

Parson Howe made no reply ; but, after a little more 
discussion, the President instructed the committee, who 
had the matter in hand, to provide for the next stage of the 
discussion on Cattle, and declared the meeting adjourned. 

" Our friends evidently want facts and not theories," 
said Mr. Howe to Mr. Hopkins, as they separated, and the 
Club House was cleared for the night. 



CA TTLE. 



39 



THIRD MEETING. 



CA TTLE (Continued). 



FANNY WRIGHT APPEARS. — DR. PARKER COMES UPON THE STAGE 
AND DISCOURSES ON THE STRUCTURE OF CATTLE. 

It was several days before the committee on subjects for 
discussion had an opportunity to arrange matters prepara- 
tory to the next meeting of the Ckib. Mr. Howe had been 
unusually busy. There was a wedding at Squire Wright's, 

— his eldest and fairest daughter, Fanny, having been 
wooed and won 

by a thoughtful, 
earnest, and de- 
vout young min- 
ister, who had 
just graduated 
at a theological 
school, and who 
while yet a stu- 
dent had often 
tried his wings 
in Mr. Howe's 
pulpit, and found 
sweet consola- 
tion during the 
" interim " at the 
hospitable man- 
sion of the Squire. The excitement over this event was 
great ; for Fanny was a most efficient and energetic person, 

— sang splendidly in the choir, — had the best class in the 




FANNY WRIGHT. 



40 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

Sunday School, — was the life of the sewing-circle, — car- 
ried cheer and light with her wherever she went, — enter- 
tained the brightest circle at the parties, with a soft and 
gentle vivacity so superior to the noise and tumult of so 
many of her rivals, that young and old hovered about her, 
— was tall and vigorous and superb with her crown of 
dark brown hair, — was so self-poised and well informed 
that she was never "forth-putting," and never awkward and 
abashed, and had, as her bachelor cousin said, always mani- 
fested great sense and judgment, until she followed the ex- 
ample set by so many of the finest and fairest, and fell in 
love with the young minister. Fanny had gone off in the 
blaze of a great wedding, and the darkness and silence which 
followed gave the village such a cheerless air that Mr. Howe 
felt quite oppressed and powerless. And then, too, an 
only son of a mother, and she a widow, had died, and all 
that sorrow had shut down around Mr. Howe, while the 
humble procession which wound along the hard highways 
on that gray, cold winter afternoon, and the dismal toll of 
the church-bell filling all the frigid air with wailing and 
woe, and the hard frozen grave in the bleak and unadorned 
churchyard had cast a heavy shadow over the half-fright- 
ened companions of the youth, and had softened the whole 
village into a tender feeling for the grief-stricken mother. 
But Mr. Howe and John Thomas did meet at length, and 
turned their thoughts to the duty assigned them. 

Mr. Thomas entertained a little doubt with regard to the 
manner in which Mr. Howe had opened the debate, and he 
told him so. He had intended to plunge into an energetic 
and vigorous discussion of the comparative value of native 
cattle and pure imported breeds, the best way to feed, the 
best time to milk, the most profitable mode of feeding 
calves, and he was so dazed by the heavenly light into 
which Mr. Howe had borne him, that his only fear now 
was that too sudden a descent might utterly destroy both 



CA TTLE. 



41 



committee and club. And he was only too glad when Mr. 
Howe suggested to him that, in discussing the structure 
of cattle, their physiology and habits, the questions natu- 
rally next in order, they should call on Dr. Parker, the 
village physician, and request him to join the Club, and to 
prepare a paper 
upon these sub- 
jects. Dr. Park- 
er was a sort of 
mystery to the 
committee, as he 
was to the entire 
village, and to 
the people of the 
country lying 
within the large 
circuit of his 
practice. His 
father and grand- 
father had been 
physicians in 
Jotham and that region ; and it was generally believed 
that he had in his possession an elaborate record of all 
the idiosyncrasies of every family which had submitted 
itself, from the cradle to the grave, to all these medical 
generations. He had the entire confidence of the com- 
munity, not so much from what they did know as from 
what they did not know about him. The book was im- 
pressive enough, but Dr. Parker was more impressive 
still. He had been graduated at college while yet quite 
young ; and before he had passed out of the unrecognized 
regions of boyhood into the settled and organized territory 
of youth and manhood, he had gone to the medical schools 
of Europe, from which he returned to step at once into his 
father's place, an accepted physician, without the exhaust- 




DR. PARKER. 



42 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

ing and withering delay of working into a practice. He 
had never been married ; and it was said and beheved that 
he never would be, and somehow it was desired at last that 
he never should be. His house was seldom entered except 
by himself and his housekeeper and servants, the " office- 
door" constituting the boundary beyond which few people 
had been allowed to go. Everybody knew his sulky and 
each of his horses, but nobody seemed to know him, as all 
the village knew each other. That he was a victim to an 
uncontrollable appetite was silently and sadly recognized 
by all those who loved him, and confided in him, and be- 
lieved in his skill and knowledge ; and this fact in his life 
had driven him into a secret and hidden retreat, and had 
veiled him with an air of secretiveness and mystery which 
manifestly weighed him down, and, except for the practical 
duties of his profession, made him a self-imposed outcast 
among his fellow-men. And then, too, he was so learned. 
He had really been in Paris, and the people knew it ; and 
this fact in his life clothed him with just enough of the 
marvellous to satisfy that popular demand which usually 
seeks its gratification in quackery of every form. It was 
known, too, that he imported all newly discovered or newly 
combined drugs, and so there was no place there for patent 
medicines. It was announced in one of the daily papers at 
the time of his graduation at the medical school, that he 
had written the most elaborate treatise on " Phlebitis " 
that had ever been published. Whenever a stranger ap- 
peared in the village, bowed with study, and "sicklied o'er 
with the pale cast of thought," everybody knew that he was 
in search of Dr. Parker ; and the postmaster could tell of 
many a letter addressed to the great Agassiz, or to Jeffries 
Wyman, or to Asa Gray, or to Dr. Deane of Greenfield, 
whose untimely death the world of science deplored ; or to 
Dr. O. W. Holmes, or to Dr. Jacob Bigelow ; and two or 
three college boys of the town said he must be versed in 



CA TTLE. 43 

zoology and botany and geology, and must have some 
bond of union with the brilliant scholars and explorers ; 
otherwise he could never have such correspondents as these. 
And one morning it appeared in the " Boston Daily Ad- 
vertiser," long, long before the " Globe " was established, 
that Dr. Parker of Jotham had instituted some investiga- 
tions into embryology among the flocks and herds of his 
native town, upon which Agassiz proposed to build his 
most important theories of animal life. What this all 
meant John Thomas did not exactly know, and he did not 
care ; but he felt assured that such a man as this could 
either hold the Club up to the height to which Mr. Howe 
had brought it, or let it down so easily that no damage 
could possibly befall it. 

Dr. Parker listened to the request of Mr. Howe and John 
Thomas that he would join the Club, and prepare for the 
next meeting a paper on the structure of cattle, with min- 
gled amusement and surprise. He had never been asked 
before to join in any of the intellectual operations of the 
village, and he half wondered at the audacity which now 
proposed to invade his sanctuary, and drag him forth to 
the light of day and the popular gaze. His modesty both- 
ered him a little at first, but the prospect of being brought 
into agreeable associations with his neighbors, and an un- 
expected and rising hope that there might be after all 
a humanizing and emancipating influence in this Club, 
took such strong hold on him for the moment, and opened 
such a new and unexpected vision of freedom from the 
secret chain which bound him, that before he knew it he 
had consented to all that the committee required. And 
when the Club met again in the pleasant parlor of Presi- 
dent Hopkins, to the astonishment of all Dr. Parker ap- 
peared with the following paper upon 



44 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 



THE STRUCTURE OF CATTLE. 

I have been requested by your committee to continue the 
discussion so well opened at your last meeting by the Rev. Mr. 
Howe. I do not expect to present any views which will be 
especially new or attractive to the practical farmers composing 
this Club ; and I assure you I have not the presumption to 
suppose that my attainments in science will enable me to 
attract the attention of the learned by any views or observations 
I may set forth. Perhaps this will be fortunate for us all, as I 
especially desire to confine myself, so far as possible, to what is 
familiar and practical. The structure of cattle, of which I shall 
treat, is interesting to every farmer who would recognize the 
importance of anatomical conditions as fitting the animal for 
specific purposes, and realizes as he should that certain physio- 
logical laws should be observed in feeding for any given object. 
It is true the wisest and most experienced and successful of 
you know well, now, how to feed your cattle for beef or for 
milk; and know, also, how to select them for each of those 
two objects. But all men are not wise or experienced or suc- 
cessful ; and it is for those who are not, as well as for my own 
gratification, that I have entered upon this discussion. 

Now, nature has provided that a certain development of the 
bony structure, and a certain balance existing between it and 
the muscular organization, shall indicate to a great extent the 
purpose to which an animal is best adapted, and also the effect 
upon the animal economy of various methods of feeding and of 
service. In a horse, for instance, sharp bony processes, finely 
grained bones properly balanced as to the weight of muscle, a 
rather pointed skeleton, indicate courage, high temper, endur- 
ance on the road, and great energy ; while a frame of smoother 
make, with dull and blunt processes, with a skull without 
fine lines, with cannon bones of heavy appearance and coarse 
fibre, is almost always attended with duller faculties and less 
energy. So, too, of cattle. That lacteal system which makes a 
good cow is found in a frame remarkable for the prominence 
of its processes, the sharpness of its outline, the thinness of its 



CA TTLE. 



45 



edges, the looseness of its joints and articulations, and a 
certain bony keenness, so to speak, which every good farmer 
recognizes almost by instinct ; while on the other hand the 
skeleton of an animal whose tendency is to convert food into 
fat is duller, less angular, less finely organized, and intended 
more for repose than motion. With one frame goes the lacteal 
system of a good cow, and with the other go the fat-producing 
cells which are necessary for the rapid production of beef. To 
some extent the two may be combined ; but not in such a w'ay 
as to render any one animal capable of reaching the highest 
standard in both classes at the same time. 

Asking you to bear in mind this distinction which I have 
made, I will now give you what I consider to be the best points 
of a good cow. She should have head of medium size, with 
a strong, well-marked 
bony structure, broad 
between and high 
above the eyes, with 
a capacious but not 
clumsy muzzle, full 
nostril, an eye full, 
mild, but not too 
prominent, jowls thin 
and wide apart, horns 
small, well curved, 
clear, slightly turned 
upward, and with a 
calm and at the same 
time a strong and 

resolute expression, — an expression of good health and a strong 
constitution ; neck long, well-muscled, slender, tapering towards 
the head, with a little loose skin hanging below, and not drop- 
ping too much forward of the shoulders ; shoithias thin and 
sharp at the top, and lying close to the chine, somewhat promi- 
nent, strong-muscled, and loose-jointed at the point (the head 
of the humerus), long from the point to the elbow ; fore-quarters 
light and thin, with straight and slender fore-leg, broad knee. 




AN AYRSHIRE BULL. 



46 



THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 






and broad, flat, capacious foot ; carcase deep, round, and full, 
about the heart, and increasing in capacity towards the hind- 
quarters ; back straight and loosely jointed, with sharp and 
well-opened spinous processes ; pelvis wide over the hips, long, 
level, and supplied with strong muscles, — a long, level rump 
in all animals, usually indicating a good constitution and high 
quality ; hind-quarters broad, strong on the outside, and well 
cut out inside, with a strong hock and long, tapering foot ; 
/(/// long and slender, strong at the roots, and set on in a line 
with the back ; udder evenly divided into four quarters, extend- 
ing well forward, filling the cavity between the thighs behind, — 
not hung low, and with a large, long, and crooked milk-vein, 

— a superfixial vein 
on the belly indi- 
cating the character 
of the vascular sys- 
tem ; teats set far 
apart and of medi- 
um size and length; 
skiti loose and elas- 
tic, but not too 
thin ; hair soft and 
silky, and of lively 
appearance; ribs 
broad, flat, thin, 
sharp-edged, and 
especially the last 
two widely separated. A yellowish color to the skin, especially 
that lining the ears and about the eye, is desirable. 

These are the points which would, according to the best laws 
of physiology, indicate a great capacity to convert food into 
milk ; and I have often noticed the rapidity and skill with 
which an expert will examine them, as he investigates a cow 
which he proposes to purchase. How rapidly he runs his hand 
along the back, to ascertain the structure of the spine and its 
processes ; how quickly he thrusts his finger into the cup-like 
cavity at the point of the shoulder ; how skilfully he follows 




AN AYRSHIRE COW. 



CA TTLE. 47 

and measures the milk-vein, from the udder to its passage into 
the great returning veins of the body ; how adroitly he handles 
the skin ; and with what a rapid glance he surveys the gen- 
eral outline and expression and character of the animal he is 
examining ! No good anatomical point escapes him ; not be- 
cause he is an anatomist, but because he knows from experi- 
ence the points of a good cow, and thus recognizes the truth 
taught by scientific investigation. 

Now, by way of contrast, let me read to you a description 
which one of the best writers and observers in England gives 
of the animal which the English breeder has brought to the 
highest perfection for the purpose of producing beef. The dif- 
ference will appear to you at once. He says: "The animal 
should have wide and deep girth about the heart and lungs ; 
and not only about these, but above the whole of the ribs must 
we have both depth and roundness ; the hooped as well as the 
deep barrel is essential. The breast also should be ribbed 
home ; there should be little space between the ribs and the 
hips. This is indispensable in the fattening ox, but a large- 
ness and dropping of the belly is excusable i.i the cow. It 
leaves room for the udder, and, if it is accompanied by swell- 
ing milk-veins, it generally indicates her value in the dairy. 
'I'his roundness and depth of barrel, however, is most advanta- 
geous in proportion as it is found behind the point of the 
elbow more than between the shoulders and legs ; or low down 
between the legs than upward toward the withers ; for it dimin- 
ishes the heaviness before, and the comparative bulk of the 
coarser parts of the animal, which is always a very great con- 
sideration. The loins should be wide, for these are the prime 
arts ; they should seem to extend far along the back ; and al- 
though the belly should not hang down, the flanks should be 
round and deep, the hips large, without being ragged, round 
rather than wide, and present when handled plenty of muscle 
and fat ; the thighs full and long, and when viewed from behind 
close together ; the legs short, for there is an almost insepara- 
ble connection between the length of leg and propensity to 
fatten. The bones of the legs and of the frame generally 



48 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

should be small, but not too small, — small enough for the well- 
known accompaniment, a propensity to fatten ; small enough 
to please the consumer, but not so small as to indicate delicacy 
of constitution, and liability to disease. Finally, the hide, the 
most important thing of all, should be thin, but not so thin as 
to indicate that the animal can endure no hardships ; movable, 
mellow, but not too loose, and particularly well-covered with 
fine and soft hair." 

You will mark at once the difference between the two animals 
I have thus described ; and I think there is no farmer here who 
expects to find in the round, dull, inexpressive bone of the beef 
animal the narrow, thick-edged rib, compact joints, and well- 
blunted processes, the frame of a good dairy cow. An expert 
would reject such an animal for dairy purposes at once. 

Let us consider, at this point, the physiological conditions 
which attend these different structures. It is a comparatively 
easy matter to breed animals which, by their aptitude to fatten, 
will remunerate the feeder. The qualities belonging to an ani- 
mal structure, designed for this purpose, are very perceptible, 
are easily transmitted, and are easily preserved and improved 
by feeding. Mr. Bakewell learned almost the precise mechan- 
ism adapted to his wants as a producer of size and fat, the 
form and quality of bone, the shape of the parts containing the 
vital organs, and the organs of nutrition, that " feel," which an 
expert understands, so that he may also be said to carry his 
eyes in his fingers' ends, capable of exploring the internal or- 
ganization of every animal. And this bone, and shape of 
body, and texture of skin are easily preserved and transmitted. 
When Mr. Colling saw Hubback, he knew that his stomach 
and glandular system, and nervous and respiratory organiza- 
tion, all tended towards the development of fat; and he be- 
lieved it would be easy to transplant such lethargic faculties as 
these. He did this on good soil ; and with proper care suc- 
ceeded in making a creation of fat. 

Mr. Alton, however, one of the earliest breeders and found- 
ers of Ayrshire cattle, as I understand, and all his predecessors, 
had a very different and a much more troublesome task to per- 



CA TTLE. 49 

form. That delicate organization which is called into opera- 
tion when the food taken into the body is to be converted into 
milk is much more difficult to comprehend or control. There 
is a certain physical conformation indicative of a large capacity 
for secreting milk ; but when we remember that this capacity 
depends upon a fortunate combination of many faculties, we 
can comprehend how many difficulties they labored under who, 
in Scotland, endeavored to establish a breed of milkers. They 
might secure the bony structure, the quality of skin, the shape 
of the muscle, the general outline, the form of udder most ap- 
proved, and after all this there might be some deep defect in 
the process of assimilating the food, in the glandular system, in 
the nervous organization, which might entirely destroy the use- 
fulness of the animal. This accounts for the wide differences 
which exist in individuals belonging to every well-known and 
long-established breed of milkers. Thousands of animals are 
driven from Shorthorn and Devon regions, so nearly alike in 
weight and size and shape, that the law of their reproduction 
seems to be as fixed as that which gives to the casting the 
shape of the mould, be it repeated times innumerable. But no 
one can find a race of milkers all brought up to a high stand- 
ard, and all capable of unerringly transmitting that standard. 
We approach it, but are often vexed at the unexpected 
failures. 

It would seem, therefore, that the great rule to be observed 
in the raising of dairy stock is, not to interfere with the delicate 
organization by the food furnished either early or late in life. 
Why cannot the system of a heifer be injured by food, so as 
to disorganize her glandular functions, as well as the system 
of a cow, which can be forced into diseased action with the 
greatest ease, — which, in fact, requires constant care, lest, in 
her business of manufacturing milk, she may take on disease? 
Why may we not, for instance, lay the foundation of garget 
long before the udder contains a drop of milk ? We do not 
feed a milch cow as we do a fattening cow, unless we are will- 
ing to run the risk of ruining her. ' For the wholesale state- 
ment so often made, that what produces milk will also produce 
4 



50 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

fat, and vice versa, is shown to be wholly unfounded by a com- 
parison of the effect of rowen hay, brewers' grains, shorts and 
green food with corn-meal and oil-cake. 

We are obliged to consider the different structures we are 
dealing with from infancy to maturity and decay, in all our 
endeavors to make the various classes and breeds of cattle 
profitable to us. That we may force the beef producers I have 
no doubt, for they are as well able in early life as later to dis- 
charge their duty of creating flesh, and their faculties do not 
seem to be injured by use. But with the structure and func- 
tions of a dairy cow we must be more patient and deliberate. 
Her powers mature slowly, and depend very much on the 
strength of her constitution. When this is impaired, either by 
feeding or breeding, her value is diminished. In establishing 
a dairy breed, therefore, early maturity, with its accompanying 
evils, is not desirable. On the contrary, it should be avoided, 
and that mode of feeding should be adopted which will be con- 
ducive to health in the individual and in the breed, and which 
will in no way exhaust the powers or shorten the life of the 
race. 

I present these views, Mr. President, for the consideration of 
the Club, proposing at the next meeting to discuss more fully 
the effects of various kinds of food upon the animal structure. 
In doing this I shall not deem it necessary to resort to a micro- 
scopic investigation of animal tissue and fibre, because I think 
I can satisfy you that there are certain general rules so mani- 
festly beneficial that all ought to follow them. And I trust that 
in this way we may discover the true relations which exist be- 
tween science and practice, and may learn also how to record 
the facts which we obtain, and how to deduce from them the 
best laws to guide us in our work. 

The speech of Dr. Parker was warmly received ; and 
there was an universal look of satisfaction, when he an- 
nounced that he would continue his remarks at the next 
meeting. Peter Ilsley said he should wait until the Doctor 
had finished his scientific views, before presenting what he 



CA TTLE. 



51 



himself had prepared of a practical character. The meet- 
ing, after considerable desultory debate, adjourned, leaving 
President Hopkins and Dr. Parker sitting for the first 
time together before the wood-fire, enjoying the dawning 
hours of a rapidly growing intimacy, and the solace of 
their ciirars. 




PRESIDENT HOPKINS AND DR. PARKER. 



52 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 



FOURTH MEETING. 

CATTLE (Contimced). 

DR. PARKER CONTINUES. — HIS OPINION OF INHERITED FACULTIES 
AND CHARACTERISTICS. — SOARS ALOFT AND REJECTS EVOLU- 
TION. 

When the business of speeding the parting members 
of the Club was over, and President Hopkins found him- 
self quietly and somewhat intimately sitting by his fireside 
with Dr. Parker, it became evident to both these gentle- 
men that there would be for many minutes a relief to their 
minds in the drowsy business of watching the curling 
smoke of their cigars. They had not known each other 
well, had not often met. They were reserved, too ; the 
President, from the absorption and caution of a life of 
business ; the physician, from the effect of his habits, his 
want of sympathizing companions, and the necessities of 
his profession. They were not of the talkative kind, and 
the closing business of the evening had been so wordy, 
so indirect, so confusing to a well-drilled mind, that the 
golden hues of silence seemed to have an unusual charm 
to them ; and so for a short space of time the two new 
friends settled down and mused. 

At last Dr. Parker turned to his companion and said, 
abruptly, " Do you like this .-* " 

" Yes, I do ! " said the President, " as far as I have 
gone." 

" Why > " said the Doctor. 

" Well," replied Mr. Hopkins, " for a variety of reasons. 
I like the repose, to begin with ; and so fond have I be- 



CATTLE. 53 

come of the calm and quiet life of this old farm and the 
village, that I look back with an involuntary shudder upon 
the excitement and strain of my many years of toilsome 
and successful business. When I recall how suspicious 
and secretive and watchful and sleepless I was, how blind 
to every want and deaf to every appeal I became when the 
object in view was trade and only trade, I must confess I 
am thankful that the work of making my fortune is over, 
and the work of using and enjoying it has begun. Then, 
too, my ancestors lived here, and I was born here, and I 
seem to have a sort of title to this spot which I have not 
to my wharf and warehouses, — a higher and finer right 
of possession. I like the people, moreover ; like the minis- 
ter, like the occupation of the place, the peculiarities of my 
neighbors, the defiant way in which they resist a theory 
and a theorist, the unshakable level of their minds, their 
sensible instincts, their honest impulse for what is right 
and humane in an emergency, their queer little selfishness 
when there is nothing of moment at issue, their sturdy 
individuality, their apparent torpor, their quick respon- 
siveness, their keen understanding, their common-sense ; 
and then, Doctor, to be President of a Farm-yard Club in 
your own town, and without a fight, and in your own 
house, with the gathered landholders about you ; — I tell 
you, there is a feeling of satisfaction about it, which the 
ambitious who successfully walk more giddy heights may 
possibly feel, but I don 't believe it." 

The Doctor, who had lived all his life in Jotham, and 
had come to look upon each family in the town as a patho- 
logical problem, and had had no ambitions, seemed hardly 
to understand all this ; and yet there was something at- 
tractive about it to his mind, and he thought it might 
perhaps be well for him to follow President Hopkins into 
this new and airy field of investigation. And suddenly 
remembering that nothing binds men so firmly together 



54 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

as the consciousness of having the same blood in their 
veins, he said : " I beheve, Mr. Hopkins, your great-grand- 
mother was a Bradford." 

" Yes," said Mr. Hopkins, " Eunice Bradford, a descend- 
ant of the old Plymouth family. She married Timothy 
Hopkins, my great-grandfather, from whom I get my 
name." 

Dr. Parker, who had too long turned the cool eye of 
science upon his fellow-beings to be much interested in 
genealogy, was pleased, however, to remember that even 
before a Bradford had settled in Jotham, one of his ances- 
tors had married into that illustrious Pilgrim family, — and 
he instantly discovered the cause of a certain resemblance 
in motion, tone of voice, and slight peculiarities between 
Mr. Hopkins and an older brother of his own, who had 
long been dead, — a resemblance which had so attracted 
him that he had become restless to account for it, in order 
to determine in his own mind whether the finer traits are 
indigenous to a locality, or can only be preserved and 
transmitted through the channels of the blood. He had 
also seen and admired Mary Johnson, his far-off relative, 
when he was a mere child, and he was drawn still nearer 
to Mr. Hopkins, the husband of so kind and lovely a wife, 
and to his two sons who had such a charming mother. 
And as he went on and smoked and mused and chatted 
and remembered, he felt the currents of new and unusual 
emotions moving round his heart, and thought, on the 
whole, it was very wise in Mr. Hopkins to desire to end 
his days in his old home. 

And so having settled the family question, he asked 
Mr. Hopkins, with an interest increased by the discovery 
of these ancestral ties between them, how he proposed to 
make his farming a matter of business, as he had his mer- 
chandise, and where he expected to find out what he 
wanted to know. 



CATTLE. 55 

" As to the business part of the matter," said the Presi- 
dent, " I have not yet got at it ; my ship is n"t launched ; 
when she is, I will engage to find a voyage for her. And 
as to information, I propose to call on my neighbors." 

" Whom you are trying to teach in a club," said the 
Doctor. 

"No," said the President, — "whom I am trying to en- 
courage in the work of systematizing what they do know, 
so as to advance beyond the regions of mere tradition and 
experience. Peter Ilsley knows a good cow from a poor 
one, Doctor, better than you do ; but put his knowledge 
and yours together and he won't make the odd mistakes 
he now does, and which he can't account for. And, by 
the way, Doctor, what do you say to all this talk about the 
origin of the species, and evolution, and man, and mon- 
key } " 

" O, pshaw ! " said the Doctor, " nothing. Microscopi- 
cally and chemically the fibre and tissue and fluids of a 
man may be the same as those of a dog. But man defies 
all laws. He is n't so strong as a horse, it is true, but 
what of disease or medicine will kill a horse twice harms 
him not at all. He is not physically powerful, but he is 
physically enduring, and, through the agency of his spirit, 
physically ' triumphant over space and time.' At a certain 
point he leaves the animal economy, and soars into the 
regions of a Divine power, lives and works in spite of dis- 
ease, implants upon his race, through the agency of his 
soul, faculties, moral and intellectual, which become at 
last a part of his physical organization, and proclaims 
everywhere, and in every way, that he is not a beast. 
Reverently and devoutly I recognize the Divine power 
which manifested itself, not so much when it made the 
earth and the sea, as when it breathed into man an im- 
mortal spirit. And I reject with scorn and contempt the 
theory of evolution, as old Samuel Johnson did in his 



$6 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

day the doctrines of Monboddo, with his ring-tailed 
humanity." 

Mr. Hopkins was rather startled by the Doctor's sudden 
impetuosity, and, with a mild assent to his views, turned 
the conversation to local matters, and town traditions, and 
old memories, and the characteristics of the departed, and 
the labors of the living men and women, until the fire 
burned low, and the Doctor rose to depart, closing the 
conversation by abruptly and awkwardly asking the Presi- 
dent if he knew Clara Bell, the miller's daughter. 

" No, I do not," said Mr. Hopkins. 

" I didn't know but you might have seen her," said the 
Doctor ; and he was gone. 

The Club gathered at its accustomed day and hour, and 
with more than its accustomed members, at the house of 
Mr. Hopkins, on its next meeting. Mr. Howe read the 
records of the last session, and announced that Dr. Parker 
would continue his discussion of animal structure, as he 
proposed at the end of the previous debate. The Doctor 
read the following essay on 

ANIMAL STRUCTURE. 

I endeavored in my last address to impress upon your minds 
the view that Nature has designed the various physical organiza- 
tions for specific purposes, and that it is especially important 
for the farmer to discover the relations which exist between 
the structure of the animal and the service he is to perform 
or the object to which he is destined. In animals intended for 
the dairy this consideration should never be lost sight of; and 
great regard should be had in raising and feeding dairy stock, 
to the effect which different kinds of food produce upon the 
animal economy. In order that I may impress this more 
strongly upon your minds, I will endeavor to lay before you as 
clearly and concisely as may be the different functions employed 
in the production of milk and of fat ; and I doubt not you will 



CA TTLE. 



57 



then see why it is that an animal cannot well engage in the 
production of both of these at the same time, and cannot safely 
use for both the same kind of food ; and I trust you will also 
see that the young animal destined for one service must be fed 
differently from the young animal destined for another service. 

And now, in the first place, let us consider the organs and 
functions devoted to the production of fat. The fat cells, that 
tissue of the body in which adipose matter is deposited, are 
found in fat and lean animals alike, — the difference consisting 
in the amount of their contents and their number only. For 
the supply of fat, certain organs are provided which are capable 
of receiving all that excess of non-azotized compounds, such as 
starch, oil, etc., which is contained in the alimentary matter 
taken into the body. When there is a ready absorption of these 
compounds into the vessels fat is produced, especially if with 
this absorption there is combined a vigorous power to generate 
adipose tissue of the cells producing fat. When they are not 
absorbed, accumula- 
tions of fat do not 
take place; and 
when they are ab- 
sorbed without be- 
ing provided with 
adipose tissue, they 
would accumulate 
injuriously in the 
blood if not drawn 
off by the liver. 
Hence it is that in 
warm climates, 
where there is di- 
minished excretion through the lungs, and non-azotized matter is 
not got rid of by the respiratory process, the liver is overworked, 
its function becomes disordered from its inability to separate 
from the blood all that it should draw off ; and these injurious 
substances, accumulating in the blood, produce various symptoms 
that are known under the general term, bilious. Hence also 




HEREFORD BULL. 



58 THE FARM -YARD CLUB OF JOT HAM. 

some persons never become fat, however large the quantity of 
oily matter taken into the stomach ; and it is in such persons that 
the tendency to disorder of the liver, from overwork, is most read- 
ily manifested ; and they are necessarily obliged to abstain from 
the use of fat-producing articles of food. It is the power, there- 
fore, of absorbing these fat-producing articles of food, and of 
generating adipose tissue for their reception, that saves the liver 
from being overtasked, and results in accumulations of fat. I 
have dwelt upon the production of animal fat, and the organs 
engaged in its manufacture, in order to show how distinct a part 
of the animal economy it is, and how naturally the fat-producing 
functions can be transmitted, independently of all others, and 
may be cultivated at the expense of all others. 

The secretion of milk, however, is a very different matter ; 
and now, in the second place, I will discuss the organs and 
functions devoted to this part of the animal economy. This 
secretion is formed by glands, whose business it is rather " to 
elaborate from the blood certain products which are destined 
for special uses in the economy, than to eliminate matters whose 
retention in the circulating current would be injurious." These 
glands, called mammary glands, perform, as is supposed, the 
chief part of the work of elaborating the elements of milk ; 
although it is not yet ascertained how much of this elaboration 
takes place in the blood during its circulation. Be this as it 
may, the production of milk is a very different business from 
the production of fat, and does not result from the combination 
of the same elements as are contained in the adipose tissue and 
fat cells. 

It is well known, moreover, that the proportion of two at least 
of the principal ingredients of milk is liable to great variation 
with the circumstances which surround the animal. Dr. Play- 
fair has ascertained " that the proportion of butter depends in 
part upon the quantity of oily matter in the food, and in part 
upon the amount of exercise which the animal takes and the 
warmth of the atmosphere in which it is kept. Exercise and 
cold, by increasing the respiration, eliminate part of the oily 
matter in the form of carbonic acid and water ; while rest and 



CA TILE. 



59 



warmth, by diminishing this drain, favor its passage into the 
milk. The proportion of casein, on the other hand, is increased 
by exercise ; which would seem to show that this ingredient is 
derived from the disintegration of muscular tissue." The expe- 
rience of every farmer teaches him that an animal which has 
a large, heavy, muscular development, and is thus furnished 
with the means of rapid locomotion, is seldom a good milker. 
Her digestive apparatus is more devoted to her fleshy fibre than 
to the preparation of milk. The same may be said of fat and 
bone. So true is this, that among cattle bred expressly for the 
stall the females often furnish hardly milk enough to sustain 
their own offspring \ and in countries where the bone and muscle 
of the cow are developed by labor, her service in the dairy 
amounts to but little. 

It would seem, therefore, from the explanation which I have 
given of the two duties to be performed by the animal economy, 
one for the dairy and the other for the stall, and of the ease 
with which either 
may be developed by 
feeding, that in rais- 
ing animals for the 
dairy care should be 
taken that the young 
are not so fed as to 
develop a tendency 
to great size, either 
inframeor in adipose 
tissue ; nor so as to 
establish in the end 
a race which has 

every faculty except that of producing milk. We have all seen 
how high feeding of the young has in a few generations, and 
sometimes in one or two, removed from a family of vigorous, 
nervous, muscular and active horses all traces of those charac- 
teristics which have given them value. What they had acquired 
on the homely fare of their native hills they lost when brought 
and bred into greater prosperity. The hard and wiry tendon 




HEREFORD COW. 



6o THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

vanished, the elastic and well-defined muscle was rounded off 
into graceful effeminacy, the carcase and adipose tissue had 
gained the ascendency, through the aid of good living and a 
luxurious life from youth upward. Some of us have seen a 
promising heifer calf, the offspring of a good milker, pampered 
in its youth, and fed until it became anything but the dairy 
animal which its ancestry promised. 

I would not advocate a deficiency of food for young dairy 
stock, but I would argue against an excess of articles of a 
highly stimulating quality. The plan of the Ayrshire farmers 
is undoubtedly a good one, — to take their calves early from 
the dams, feed them from the dish, and bring them to solid food 
or pasture as soon as the condition of the young stomach will 
allow. Instead of linseed meal, they use a great quantity of 
oatmeal, — an article of food much less predisposing to fat, and 
keeping up a vigorous growth. We have in New England the 
best quality of English hay as a basis for feeding ; and after the 
calf is weaned, or after it has had milk enough to give it a fair 
introduction into life, hay in the form of hay tea, and afterwards 
of rowen, is undoubtedly the best food the young animal can 
have, especially when aided by a few turnips and a little oat- 
meal. In some cases milk is abandoned at a very early age, 
and skimmed milk is advantageously used as a substitute. I 
would not recommend the use of grain for young dairy stock, 
especially that containing a superabundance of oily matter, as 
Indian corn or cotton-seed or oil-cake. Perhaps corn-meal, 
sparingly, or barley-meal may be used in winter, should the 
animal seem not to thrive well. But a calf that is properly 
weaned, and properly fed after weaning, and, if dropped in early 
spring or in winter, furnished with a good pasture the first 
summer, will be carried through the first winter most satisfac- 
torily on good sweet hay, especially rowen, with turnips and 
oatmeal. In this way can a uniform and well-balanced animal 
be produced, which when put to dairy service will not become 
coarse and rawboned in her appearance, nor take on flesh at the 
expense of the milk-pail. 

Of course the views which I have advanced apply solely to 



CATTLE. 6 1 

dairy stock, and should be borne in mind mainly by the farmer 
who is engaged in raising cattle for this purpose. I have 
alluded, as you must have noticed, to the custom adopted by 
the Ayrshire farmers, and I have done this because on their 
farms the business of feeding and breeding for the dairy has 
been brought to the highest perfection. If, however, the object 
is the stall, an entirely different course should be pursued. The 
breeder and feeder of cattle especially adapted to beef may 
begin at the earliest age of his animal and force him into a 
rapid growth without injury to the animal and with benefit 
to himself. The fat-producing system can be constantly en- 
couraged, and should never be checked by neglect or improper 
food. It is a system easily preserved, readily transmitted, and 
capable of bearing constant stimulus. While the Ayrshire 
breeder feels that he is liable to repeated failures on account 
of the delicacy and sensitiveness of the system he is to pro- 
duce, the Shorthorn breeder may feel confident that he can 
arrive at uniformity, and sustain the type of animal he desires 
without great difficulty, and with small danger of being disap- 
pointed. He may therefore with great advantage to himself 
pursue a course entirely different from that which I have recom- 
mended to the dairy farmer. His calves may be kept upon 
the cow until the third or fourth month, and when weaned 
they may be provided with the most stimulating and nutritious 
food. If at two years old they can be made to attain a size 
equal to that of ordinary animals at three or four, so much has 
been gained. And the feeder need have no fear that the physi- 
cal organization of such an animal will be injured by this forcing 
process. 

You, who are engaged in the practical business of feeding 
cattle for various purposes, and who undoubtedly know more 
from your own experience than I can from even the best 
founded theory of my own, will allow me, I am sure, to suggest 
that the same rule applies to feeding dairy stock at maturity 
that applies to feeding the young animal. I have frequently met 
in my drives through this region cases of inflammatory disease 
among cows, which I could almost always attribute to long- 



62 



THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 



continued, excessive, or injudicious feeding. I suppose there 
can be no doubt that diseases of the udder, such as garget and 
swelling, which often terminate in ruining the cow, may be 
traced almost universally to the same cause. A sudden chill, 
or long-continued exposure to cold and wet, may produce this, 
but generally it is imprudent feeding. I should say that a lib- 
eral use of corn-meal and oil-cake and cotton-seed meal would 
produce this result. It may not come about in one year or 
two, but were I a cattle-feeder and a dairyman, I should just 
as much expect to find garget in my herd of milch cows if fed 
on oleaginous grains, as I should to find gout following a long- 
continued use of Madeira wine, — and if not gout, something 
worse. If I am wrong in this, I shall be glad to be set right 
by those of you who have had experience in the business. 

Now, I beg you to remember that I am considering what I 
deem to be for the best good of the animal, and most in ac- 
cordance with the best physiological laws. It may be profitable 
for some of you to feed heavily, and force your cows up to 
their highest capacity by a liberal use of such food as I am 
condemning, and after a short period of time to turn your ani- 
mal for beef. This point I do not propose to discuss. But 1 

would ask you to con- 
sider the usual loss 
on a cow when she 
has finished her c.i- 
reer in the dairy, and 
to calculate carefully 
whether it is not good 
economy to avoid the 
necessity for turning 
her for beef as long 
as possible. Cows 
do not mature at an 
early age, rarely be- 
fore they are five or 
six years old, and from that age until they are ten or eleven 
they generally give their largest quantity of milk. I think this 




JERSEY BULL. 



CA TTLE. 63 

period cannot be shortened, without loss to the owner. And 
I am confident that sucli a mode of feeding as will enable 
a good cow to retain her faculties to a good old age is most 
profitable to her owner. 

In addition to what I have suggested with regard to the food 
of dairy cows, you will pardon me if I make a few remarks upon 
their general treatment, — remarks which I shall base upon the 
structure of the animal, and not upon any experience of my 
own. The cow, it should be remembered, is not made for 
rapid and long-continued exercise. Her muscular system, if 
she is well-adapted to the dairy, is not powerfully developed ; 
and her digestive organs are so constructed and constituted 
that she can preserve her health, even when kept in close con- 
finement. Give her a good pasture, and she supplies herself 
with food from the smallest surface and in as short a time as 
possible, and then seeks a comfortable spot in which she can 
repose. It is quiet and rest and warmth which she requires, 
and he who attends most strictly and understandingly to her 
wants will see that she has all these, in addition to suitable 
food. A warm stable for your cows is indispensable, — a sta- 
ble in which they can be carefully protected from cold and 
storms. Do not be deceived into the idea that they need air 
and exercise. They do not — especially that which is found in 
a mid-winter day, by curling under the sunny lee of a barn and 
waiting impatiently for a chance to enter. Let your cows by 
all means have warmth, light, and repose. This is in every 
way comfortable to them and profitable to you. 

You will hear much said about the necessity of providing a 
variety of food for your cattle. I think, however, you need 
give yourselves no uneasiness on this account. There is no 
great variety of grasses in our pastures ; the grazing lands of 
California and the West, where cattle thrive and fatten with 
great rapidity, the blue-grass pastures of Kentucky, are not 
remarkable for variety, but for the quality of the grass which 
they produce. During six summer months in this climate, and 
throughout the year in the milder regions, the cattle graze 
without any other variety than that furnished by the few natu- 



64 



THE FARM- YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 



ral grasses themselves, and they supply all the requirements of 
nature. The hay which is stored in our barns is made up of 
various kinds of our cultivated grasses, generally herds-grass, 
red-top, and clover ; and this of itself seems to be suflficient for 
the wants and tastes of our domestic animals. At any rate, 
good hay and grain, either corn-meal or shorts or oat-meal 
with a few turnips, can be fed day after day with manifest 
advantage to our cows and working oxen, as hay and oats can 
be to our horses. That a little green food in the shape of 
roots is useful for our cattle in the winter season, as is also a 
cessation from grain for two or three winter months in each 
year useful for our horses, I do not doubt, — in fact, it is rea- 
sonable and manifest. But there is no necessity for going 
beyond this, either to obey the law fixed by experience or to 
accommodate the structure of the animal. 

In conclusion, let me remind you that cleanliness is really 
as indispensable to the comfort and health of the animal as 
are good food, warmth, and repose. This I urge as a preser- 
vative of health. As a remedy for diseases, except such as are 
local and require local remedies, and those which are con- 
sidered epidemic, I would urge warmth and rest. Medicinal 
agents may, probably do, control the diseases of animals ; but 

I am confident that 
^ - -..:K,.,,n.-'-^'i...^^^::i''.-%.«,..^.,^»4^ .-^ the effect of the rem- 
edy is as bad as the 
disease itself. Do- 
mestic animals are 
very sensitive to the 
effects of drugs, 
much more so than 
man. And while 
they bear disease 
with less impunity, 
they also bear medi- 
cines with less safety. 
That medicinal agents must be resorted to I do not deny ; but 
as a general thing the acute diseases of animals, if taken in 




'^i*^'!^ 



JERSEY cow. 



CA TTLE. 65 

season, will yield to good care, warmth, and repose. The diffi- 
culty is, we are unwilling to believe that our animals are ailing 
until they are almost past cure, and then the remedy is too late. 
Recognize the first symptom, attend to it, and the work is half 
accomplished. 

I beg the Club to excuse the generalizing manner in which 
I have presented my views ; and I assure them that I shall be 
more happy to learn from their experience than I have been to 
set forth my own theories. 

The Chair announced that debate was in order. Peter 
Ilsley rose and said : " Mr. President : I have heard the 
Doctor's lectures with a good deal of pleasure. I think he 
has helped me considerably. I have been bothered a good 
many times in buying cattle ; and I have wondered how 
I got cheated as bad as I did. I can tell a good cow 
about every time, but when I thought a cow good and she 
turned out poor I never could tell exactly where I had 
been misled. Now I see what the bones and hide and 
head and horns all mean ; and I believe as much as I do 
that the sun shines, that the Doctor is more than half right 
when he says one kind of a skeleton is not made for all 
kinds of business. I suppose a man can get whatever he 
wants among his cattle just as he can among his crops, if 
he only knows how to do it. But the trouble is to know 
how. I have seen in some places good cows, shaped just 
right, of good, nice size, neither too large nor too small, 
which had come by accident or chance, nobody knew how, 
and were the best in the farmer's barn. They had come 
from the rest of the herd not so good, and how they got 
there nobody could tell. Now I want to be able to make 
such cows to order; and somehow I think Dr. Parker has 
hinted a way. Now, before we go on discussing breeds 
and feeding, I want to offer a vote of thanks to the Doctor 
for his lectures, and I move that the thanks of the Club 
be given to Dr. Parker for his kindness in coming in with 
5 



66 THE FARM- YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

his lecture and helping us out in our debate ; and that his 
remarks be entered on the records of the Club." 

John Thomas took the floor to second the motion. He 
was much obliged to Dr. Parker, also, for what he had 
said on the subject of cattle. For himself he was satisfied 
that all the difference between profitable and unprofitable 
farming, when a man kept a good many cattle, was to be 
found in the business of selecting and feeding. The first 
business is to buy good cattle, the next is to feed them 
with economy and skill. He had understood that the 
profits of a factory lay in the economy with which labor 
was applied to cotton and wool, to make the most of them 
at the lowest price. He thought the same law applied to 
a cow ; and he knew that if he could make fifteen quarts of 
milk out of a cow's daily food, he was better off than he 
would be if he made but ten. And so in crops. He had 
so applied labor and manure to land, properly chosen, as to 
get a hundred bushels of corn from an acre of land ; and 
he had so applied them as to get only forty. There was 
profit in one and loss in the other. He should have some- 
thing to say on feeding at the next meeting ; and he 
should give his own experience and what his neighbors 
had done. He hoped the motion of Mr. llsley would be 
adopted. 

The motion was unanimously adopted ; and Dr. Parker 
felt, for the first time, the satisfaction of having done some- 
thing for the public good of the community in which he 
lived. And when the Club adjourned he walked home 
with the crowd, a little anxious to know, and relishing 
more than he dared to tell, the kind things that the mem- 
bers said to him about his public endeavors. 



CA TTLE. 67 



FIFTH MEETING. 

CA TTLE (Continued). 

HOW TO CUT AND USE FIRE-WOOD. — JOHN THOMAS DISCUSSES 
CATTLE. — SWEDES. — MANGOLDS. — FODDER-CORN. — A CONTRO- 
VERSY.— PETER ILSLEY SHOWS HIS TEMPER. 

T HE mid-winter village life of Jotham was passing quietly 
away. The days had begun to lengthen, it is true, but, in 
obedience to the recognized rule of the weather-wise, the 
cold began to strengthen, and those Arctic spasms which 
winter always indulges in just before it resigns its sceptre 
had driven man and beast into the shelter of house and 
byre, and had brought about the glittering and refulgent 
days and the starry nights which make this season so re- 
splendent. The winter work was really over. In the 
door-yards of the most prosperous farmers, — those who 
had not yet abandoned their firesides for the stifling and 
gloomy warmth of air-tight and column stoves, whence 
come a thousand fatal ills to young and old, — the sled- 
length wood-piles lay, jagged and uneven, waiting for the 
second attack from the woodman's axe, which was to 
reduce them to a size fit for the brass andirons, whose 
polished heads had served as grotesque mirrors for the 
children of many a generation of gatherers around those 
hearth-stones. The people of Jotham still loved their 
wood-lots, and they knew as well how to supply them- 
selves with fuel of the best description as they did how to 
gather their hay-crop at the best time, and in the best 
order. And so they cut and hauled their wood in January, 
cut and split it for use in March, exposed it for a couple of 



68 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

months in the open air, then placed it under cover where 
it could season properly, without losing its vitality. They 
had, moreover, learned the economy of burning a few green 
sticks with the dry ones, when the hard cold days ren- 
dered a steady and glowing fire necessary, hour after 
hour ; and no such fires have ever been seen as those of 
Jotham, where the dry sticks of the previous season were 
commingled with the maple and walnut, just drawn from 
the forest, and laid with that skill which the sons and 
daughters of a wood-burning people alone understand 
and exercise. Into the far-off lots, the barn-yard manure 
had been hauled over the snow, and lay there in great 
heaps, waiting for the opening summer. Even now the 
barn-door fowls had begun to gather in the sunny corners 
of the open woodsheds, and to manifest, by their ruddy 
combs and busy air, that the time for their work had 
already arrived. A few stray hairs, flying thus early from 
the heavy winter coats of the cattle and horses, told also 
that the time was fast approaching when those warm gar- 
ments, which nature had so bountifully provided, would be 
no longer needed. And all the farmers knew that they 
must seize the moments as they fly, and prepare for the 
active work of spring, or else lose those days which, once 
lost, can never be regained, even in the longest season and 
by the swiftest pursuit. It cannot be said that the village 
was very lively ; for the cold still lay heavily upon it. It 
cannot be said that the church was very lively ; for Fanny 
Wright was married and gone, and the bright star of the 
choir had dropped from the firmament. It cannot be said 
that society was very lively ; for the social assemblies 
springing out of Thanksgiving and New- Year were over, 
and the sleighing-parties to Joppa ended, and the freshness 
of winter was gone. If you had visited the workshops and 
wagon-houses of the farmers, you would have found them 
putting their ploughs in order and tightening the harrow 



CA TTLE. 69 

teeth, and overhauling the cart-wheels, or repairing the 
shovels and hoes, or painting the wagon-bodies and get- 
ting ready for spring work. These primitive mechanical 
establishments were busy enough. And the Club, as the 
objects of its deliberations came nearer and nearer to the 
minds of its practical members, and the field, with all its 
toil and its expected profits, began to have a more imme- 
diate interest, was filled with keener life and activity. 

When the Club assembled once more in the parlor of 
Mr. Hopkins, it was under the most favorable auspices. 
The usual entertainments of the village were over, and the 
details of the coming season had commenced. The mem- 
bers of the Club had, moreover, become more intimate 
with each other, less reserved, less awkward in the well- 
furnished rooms of their President, more familiar with the 
locality, and they presented an unusually lively appearance 
as they gathered together in chatty groups throughout the 
room and discussed the news of the day, and a little theol- 
ogy and politics, the weather, past, present, and to come, 
and the troubles in the town school. 

" Cattle wintering well .'' " said Peter Ilsley to John 
Thomas, as they met before the fire. 

" Well, yes, fair, some of 'em," said Thomas ; " the fact 
is, my yearlings and two-year-olds stayed out a little too 
late last fall ; they got one grain pinched. When I got 
them up they had a little too much coat on, and were all 
ready for any trouble which might come in the barn. The 
first thing they did was to get the mange,*which has tor- 
mented me these five years in one of my barns ; and I 
have had to fight that with sulphur and lard outside, and 
meal and turnips inside. They are doing pretty well 
now, but then I have lost two months in feeding against 
disease, when I ought to have fed for growth. I don't 
think much of pasture-freezing in the fall. How have 
your cows done .^ Milk-market good .? " 



70 THE FARM -YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

"Done well," said Ilsley. "I gave them a good run at 
fall-feed, last fall, and began the winter with a little rowen, 
which kept them along until they got used to hay and 
o-rain. As for milk, I have made milk enough, but then I 
can't get anything for it ; the contractors and railroads kill 
everybody. Not as I want to market my own milk, but I 
do want to get pay for milking at any rate. There ain't 
no money in nothing, nowadays." 

" How are ye, Peter," said William Jones, the horse- 
breeder ; " been buying a new pasture, I see, over on Bear 
Hill. Good one .'' What did you pay for it 1 " 

" Well, somewhere from twenty to thirty dollars an 
acre," replied Ilsley, rather unwilling to show his hand 
after his gloomy view of the milk business. "I kindo' 
wanted a place for dry cows, and I always liked the looks 
of that pasture." 

"What '11 you take in a couple of three-year-old colts 
for, next season .''" said Jones. 

" O, I don't exactly know ; about a dollar a week apiece, 
if they ain't breachy ; if they be, won't have them round 
at any price," was Peter's answer. 

By this time Mr. Howe had arrived, and Mr. Hopkins 
had extended to all his g'enial hospitality ; and the hour 
had come for calling the Club to order. This Mr. Hop- 
kins did, and called for the reading of the records of the 
last meeting. This duty Mr. Howe performed in a most 
acceptable manner ; and the debate opened once more on 
the subject of 

CATTLE. 

John Thomas took the floor, and said : — 

Mr. President: — The remarks of Dr. Parker have been so 
well arranged and so interesting, that I am more than half 
ashamed to try to follow him. But my old mother used to say 
that we could not have plum-pudding all the time ; and so I 



CATTLE. 71 

offer what I can say as rather a common dish. I was pleased 
with the Doctor's description of a good cow, but I was more 
pleased with what he said about the diseases of cattle and the 
mode of feeding them. He is right about sick cattle and 
horses ; they need care and aid and protection. If there is an 
epidemic, the cheapest way is to stamp it out, as Massachusetts 
did years ago, and as I am told England and Holland have 
always been obliged to do. But when your cattle get cold, or 
lame, or have fever, or lose their appetite, the best way is to 
stop work and nurse them at once. Don't wait a minute. No 
animal is fit to labor unless he is in good health. Health and 
strength are all they have, and these must be taken care of. 
\Vhen I was a boy, I had a long attack of slow fever. My 
father sent for old Dr. James Jackson of Boston, who was very 
skilful, very famous, very kind, very sensible, and who had so 
many desperate cases put into his hands, as a last resort, that 
people used to think it was time to die when Dr. Jackson was 
called in. But he had great good sense ; and he said to my 
mother, "Take good care of the boy; that is the best medi- 
cine." And he was right. I remember, too, when my father 
had a violent sciatica, as it was called, the famous Dr. Walker 
of Charlestown came, as an old friend, to see him, — they had 
been to the academy here together, when they were boys. 
And the Doctor talked and talked, and at last he said as he 
left, " Take good care of yourself, and eat baked apples, 
Thomas ; you will get along," And so he did. I lost the best 
cow I had, four years ago, of milk fever. When I found her, 
about twelve hours after calving, she was lying down, looking 
sort of wild about the eyes, and every now and then gritting 
her teeth, as cows always do in the beginning of this trouble. 
I spent half a day in getting a veterinary surgeon, and when I 
had got him I had lost my cow. Not long after I had the best 
one of my remaining cows attacked in the same way. The 
cause of the trouble I could not tell, and I never saw a man 
who could ; but I thought that the softening influence of a 
warm bath could do her no harm, and might, possibly, relieve 
a certain rigid appearance which I noticed in the animal. So 



72 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

I wrapped my cow in thick blankets wrung out with hot water, 
— covered her thoroughly from head to tail with many thick- 
nesses, and bound the blankets on with cords. In a few hours 
there was an evident relief, and in a few days my cow had 
recovered. In addition to the warm bath I gave also warm 
drink and mashes, and I cared for that cow from the moment 
I discovered her illness until she was evidently getting better. 
I have not had for years a violently sick horse, except on a 
rented farm, where my tenant uses my horses and uses them 
carelessly. As soon as I discover that my horse is out of sorts 
I stop his work at once, and give him a warm, loose box or a 
pen. I do not allow him to exert himself at all when he is ill. 
I have seen so many valuable horses killed by exposure and 
effort after they were attacked by disease, that I made up my 
mind to avoid all this, so far as my own are concerned, at least. 
A horse in health can be heated or chilled with impunity ; but 
a horse not in health can bear neither. His strength is great 
under all circumstances, and will enable him to bear a great 
deal of suffering ; but this same strength, when exerted by a 
frame laboring under disease, may be as destructive as the 
disease itself, and a mere exertion may kill. My neighbors 
work sick horses, and insist that it is good for them ; and the 
horses die. I will not work my horses when they are sick, and 
they get well. 

This is, I think, the only economical way of treating animal 
disease. We farmers cannot afford to lose our cattle and 
horses, and we ought, therefore, to be careful of them. We can- 
not afford to pay a doctor's bill of fifty dollars on a cow which 
at best is not worth over seventy-five dollars, and is not worth 
much of anything after going through a long fit of sickness and the 
doctor's hands. I have seen many a horse pronounced cured by 
a veterinary surgeon which was not worth the money the surgeon 
received for his care. Summary attention, therefore, and con- 
stant nursing seem to me to be the quickest and most economi- 
cal mode of treating diseases in animals. This mode of treat- 
ment works well in pleurisy, pneumonia, rheumatism, and dys- 
entery and inflammations ; and, as for consum[)tion and rabies 



CA TTLE. 73 

and strangulation, the only remedy is getting rid of the cow ; 
while foot-rot and mange and thrush and tumors are local 
affairs, and must be treated by local applications. So I 
think Ur. Parker is quite right when he says care and shelter 
and prompt attention and warmth are the best remedies for 
diseases in cattle. 

And now I desire to say something with regard to feeding 
cattle. I believe all Dr. Parker has said about the fitness of 
certain kinds of food and unfitness of others. I have spoiled 
many a cow with oil-meal ; and I have shortened the useful life 
of many another by too free a use of corn-meal. My neighbors 
complain of just the same trouble. The ill effects may not 
appear in one year, but they will in the end, in perhaps two or 
three years, and the loss is great. If you force a cow to give 
sixteen quarts of milk per day by oil-meal or corn-meal and ruin 
her in two years, how much do you gain over what you would if 
you fed her on lighter food, and got only fourteen quarts a day, 
but got that until she began to fail from old age ? I do not 
believe anything is really gained by forcing. You may gain 
good looks and a short period of superiority, but in the end 
there will be a loss. 

The three kinds of food for cattle are hay, roots, and grain. 
Hay is the foundation, and if cut at a proper time and well 
cured, it will alone furnish nourishment for all ordinary purposes. 
I suppose if I should try now to tell how I make my hay, the 
President would stop me for not confining myself to the subject 
under discussion ; so I will tell that at another time. But hay, 
English hay, herdsgrass, and red-top, is the first thing needed for 
good healthy feeding. Meadow hay may answer for young 
cattle and stores, and so may salt hay, but these require the 
addition of grain or roots to make them equal to good English 
hay. Rowen for calves and milch cows is of course very 
valuable ; but it is costly, does not spend well, and can only be 
considered an expensive luxury. I feed very regularly, and not 
often. I have always noticed that a cow turned out in the 
morning into a good pasture will fill herself as soon as possible, 
and then lie down and rest, and chew her cud, in the shade, 



74 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

until into the afternoon. I suppose this plan is best suited to 
animals which chew the cud. Now I try to give my cows the 
same chance in the barn that they get in the pasture. And so 
in winter I begin to feed them with hay about six o'clock in the 
morning, and feed steadily for an hour and a half or two hours. 
About nine o'clock they are watered and have a feed of roots, 
Swedish turnips or mangolds, whichever I happen to have. At 
about four o'clock I begin to feed again, and feed for an hour and 
a half or two hours, as the cattle may seem to require, — for some 
will eat longer than others ; and this ends the day. Cattle need 
watering but once a day, especially during the short days of 
winter; and I never turn mine out, except to drink. When 
cattle are fed in this way, they will lie down during the middle 
of the day, and keep peifectly quiet. My barn is as still at noon 
as it is at midnight. Somebody has said, " The anim il stomach 
is a very nice chronometer, and it is of the utmost importance to 
observe regular hours in feeding, cleaning, and milking." This 
is a point at which many farmers are at fault, — feeding when- 
ever it happens to be convenient. The cattle are thus kept in 
a restless condition, constantly expecting food when the keeper 
enters the barn ; while, if regular hours are strictly adhered to, 
they know exactly when they are to be fed, and they rest quietly 
until the time arrives. If one goes into any well-regulated dairy 
establishment an hour before feeding, scarcely an animal will 
rise to its feet ; while, if it happens to be the hour of feeding, 
the whole herd will be likely to rise and seize their food with an 
avidity and relish not to be mistaken. 

I like to feed my cattle myself, and they like to have me. I 
heard one of my boys, the other evening, reading poetry to hii 
mother, and one line was, 

" Be not like dumb driven cattle " ; 

but I tell you dumb driven cattle are not so stupid after all. 
They know " the hand that feeds them " as well as man does. 
And I can always save a large amount of fodder, and receive 
a large amount of thrift, by tending my cattle myself. They 
know me and I know them. And they look just as different 



CA TTLE. 75 

when I am about, from what they do when the boys take care 
of them, as my children do when I am with them and when 
they are with a stranger. All men can hoe and dig, but all 
men cannot keep cattle in good order. Kindness, system, 
order, a proper distribution of the food, knowledge of when to 
begin feeding and when to stop, a capacity to judge when an 
animal has had enough, all go to make a good feeder. 

I have spoken of nothing but hay, dry hay, as an article of 
food thus far. It is the foundation of all feeding in this coun- 
try ; and I think we ought to be grateful that we have so nutri- 
tious and wholesome a kind of food for our cattle, and are not 
obliged to use straw and supply the nourishment with grain. 
When I have an abundance of good sweet hay, I always save 
grain. But no matter how much straw I have, the cost in grain 
is always the same ; for straw alone is poor stuff, but good hay 
is about equal to grain. Still, I like to vary. So I use roots, 
Swedish turnips, mangolds, a few carrots, some potatoes, 
corn-meal and shorts. To my milch cows I feed at the 
close of the morning foddering, a half-bushel of chopped 
feed, made of corn-stalks or coarse hay, or even good English 
hay, with a quart of meal and three quarts of shorts in it. I 
mix this a few hours before I use it ; and if the feed is corn- 
stalks, I mix it with hot water. At the beginning of the after- 
noon feeding I give three pecks of roots such as I have. When 
I give chopped feed and roots in this way, I feed of course less 
hay. For the young cattle and dry cows I use a few roots 
and no grain. Now and then 1 put a little salt into the 
chopped feed, or, if I can get it, I use a little salt hay or black 
grass, every day. And I like to keep my cows pretty full, not 
too much puffed out, in good flesh, and of even shape. It takes 
me about a fortnight when they first come to the barn to get 
their appetites regulated, and their bodies shaped to proper 
feeding, after the heavy supply they get in summer and fall in 
the pastures and fields. This is about all I know about feed- 
ing ; and my cattle always look well, — go out in the spring in 
good order, and come up in the fall about the same, unless a 
drought has cut off all the feed. 



^6 THE FARM- YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

" What is a Swedish turnip ? " said Sam Barker. 

" A Swedish turnip," replied John Thomas, " is a ruta- 
baga, a great, soHd root, called, sometimes, Skirving's King 
of the Swedes, or the Purple Top Swede. It is the great 
root of England ; and a profitable root it is. You can 
raise it easier than any other root. It will grow best on a 
warm, rich, light loam, a little sandy, without clay. Grows 
well on newly ploughed sod. Plough in June, harrow 
lightly, roll a little, mark off the rows with a marker, two 
feet apart, and sow the seed in these rows. Sow about 
June 20, so as to escape the fly and louse, which attack 
the young plant earlier. For manure, use about five cords 
of well-rotted manure to the acre, harrowed in ; and before 
you sow the seed sprinkle some superphosphate of lime in 
the rows, say about five hundred pounds to the acre. This 
root grows rapidly, especially in the month of September 
and a part of October, and will yield eight or nine hundred 
bushels to the acre. I have raised more. It can be culti- 
vated easily with a horse-hoe, and will bear rough usage 
with the common hoe without being killed. Harvest it 
early in November. It can bear more frost than the man- 
gold. When it is gathered, one man can take two rows, 
one in each hand, as he walks between them, and throw 
the roots together as he pulls them up. They are easily 
topped with a heavy knife or sickle, and should be piled 
in heaps in the field, covered with tops to keep off^ the 
frost, and suffered to lie two or three days before putting 
into the cellar, unless the weather is very cold. When 
carried to the cellar, they will keep better if they are dry 
and have a little earth clinging to them. The Swedish tur- 
nip is a first-rate root. It is the cheapest root in the 
world to raise. It is as good as the mangold-wurzel for 
milch cows, and if fed on a full stomach it does not affect 
the milk more than the mangold does, though you cannot 
make butter if you use either of them. For young cattle 



CA TTLE. 77 

and stores the Swedish turnip is excellent ; fed with coarse 
hay even it will carry them through the winter in good 
smooth condition. I feed my horses and colts on them. 
If William Jones will only try them on his colts, he will 
never use any other root. He buys carrots, I see, but they 
make his horses so soft that he cannot drive them without 
their being all of a lather ; and they make his colts look 
sort of bloated, and their skins kind of mangy. I teach my 
horses to eat turnips early in life, for they will not take 
hold of them at first. And when I have once taught them, 
I give them about a peck a day from the middle of Novem- 
ber to the middle of April. My colts grow like weeds 
on them, and their legs are as clean and cordy as a deer's. 
My horses will do moderate work on them, all winter, as 
well as they will on corn ; and they will do all the better 
the next season for having this change from grain during 
the winter months. I have one horse which I raised ; 
he is now twelve years old, and he has never eaten 
any grain in winter in his life, has never been lame, 
has never had his legs stocked, was never thin, and on 
turnip feed will do a ten-mile drive on the road, out and 
back, as well as any horse ought to. I learned the value 
of turnips for horses from two sources ; one was a book on 
Irish farming, which said the farmers of Ireland always fed 
turnips to their horses when the ploughing in the spring 
began ; the other source was an old man, Sawney Lowden, 
who used to raise English turnips to sell in the market. 
He raised them early and late, and he generally brought a 
thin, broken-down horse to haul his turnips to the market. 
The horse ate the surplus of the turnips for his provender. 
And Sawney's horse always grew so fat, in a few months, 
that he really looked like a new one. Sawney could make 
a new horse out of an old one in less than a year, and clear 
money enough on him to more than pay all the expenses 
of marketing his turnips. So I believe in Swedish turnips." 



7^ THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

" A pretty good turnip story," said Phineas Barnes ; 
" but why do people raise carrots, if turnips are so much 
better ? " 

" Because their fathers did," answered Mr. Thomas, "just 
as they go to the same meeting, and keep a few flat-sided 
sheep, and feed farrow cows on meadow hay. I tell you 
a carrot is a hard and expensive root to raise, wants a good 
deal of manure, the best land, and careful weeding. It is 
a little troublesome thing to begin with, and it don't get 
over being a little troublesome thing until along into 
haying, and everybody is too busy to look after it ; and 
then you have the tormenting little thing right in your 
way. It won't make milk, and it won't make much fat. 
I think it is about as good for the cattle and horses as 
brimstone and molasses used to be for the boys." 

" Don't you like mangolds .? " said Sam Barker. 

" Yes, pretty well," said John Thomas. " They require 
better land, more manure, earlier sowing, and they will 
give a heavier crop. The seeds do not come up very well, 
and the plants feel the drought more than a turnip does. 
But with a good, strong, clayey loam and a moist season, 
and plenty of manure, with a good sprinkling of salt, you 
can raise a monstrous crop on an acre. They say Tom 
Payson raised seventy-five tons on one acre of land down 
at Deer Island. And I don't doubt he did, for he had an 
unlimited supply of manure and all the inmates of an alms- 
house to work the land." 

" Now, one thing more," said Peter Ilsley ; " what do 
you say to fodder-corn as a summer feed .'' " 

" I say," replied John Thomas, " that fodder-corn, as usu- 
ally raised, is poor stuff. It will do pretty well if you sow 
it so thin that the plants will grow to some degree of ma- 
turity. A corn-plant with a spindle to it and an ear, no 
matter how small that ear may be, is a pretty good thing to 
give a cow. It seems to be mature and nourishing, and it 



CA TTLE. 79 

is something like herdsgrass headed out, or millet with a 
seed-head to it, or like corn-stalks, which I think a good 
deal of as food for milch cows. But a corn-plant half 
grown, looking like a coarse flag or a rush, full of juices, 
and capable of being reduced to nothing by frost or by 
thorough drying, is utterly useless. I have tried it over 
and over again. I used to raise it just as all my neighbors 
did, by making a furrow, scattering some manure in it, and 
sowing the seed as thick as I could. And I used to feed 
it to my cows. But the more I fed the less milk they 
gave. Ben Adams did the same. And one day he strolled 
over to my barn along late in August, and there were 
my cows working away at the fodder-corn, chewing and 
thrashing it up and down and making a terrible fuss 
over it. ' John,' said he, ' this won't do. This kind of 
fodder-corn is n't good for anything. I would n't give a 
cent for a barnfull of it, green as this is, to make milk out 
of I knew Ben was right, but I did n't dare to say so ; 
for everybody raised it, and I thought what everybody did 
must be right. At last, however, I got desperate, and I 
told Huldah that I had either got to get something better 
than that stufi' to make milk out of, or she had got to shut 
up her dairy in the month of August, anyhow. But this 
would never do, and Huldah knew it, and said so ; and in 
a moment of desperation she asked me why I did n't sow 
the corn thinner, or sow something else ; and she said she 
would stand by me if I would do either. Well, it was no 
use to sow the corn thinner, because I could not get 
enough of a crop in that way, and I thought I must have 
the fodder whether it made milk or not. But at last I 
concluded that an acre of millet or Hungarian grass, all 
seeded out, and covering every half-inch of the land, would 
amount to something, and so I tried it. And I tell you, 
Mr. President, it works well, and I don't want any more 
fodder-corn to dry up my cows and increase my manure- 



8o THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

heap. Corn-stalks I like. And after I have sold off my 
sweet-corn ears, in the market, I use the stalks and buts 
that remain, and like them. I can make milk in that way. 
But your reedy fodder-corn, half ripe, without any maturity 
in it, I look upon with perfect contempt." 

At this point Peter Ilsley rose up in his wrath. He 
said he would not stand such an attack upon one of 
the great blessings of heaven. Fodder-corn, he thought, 
had been presented to man like manna in the desert ; and 
if John Thomas did not find it good, it was because he did 
not know how to raise or use it. He had seen it fed on 
John Thomas's farm, fifty years before ; cut up at noon, 
scattered about in the pasture, the cows waiting for it all the 
morning, and lying about all the afternoon digesting it, and 
making no milk. But that was n't the way to feed it. 
And John Thomas ought to know better than to condemn 
an article which he thought to be useless, because his father 
did not know how to use it. It was an outrage. 

" But," said Thomas, with some heat, " I quit that plan 
long ago, and the thing don't work now." 

" Well," said Ilsley, " that is your own fault, and I should 
advise you to leave your nonsense, if you ever expect to 
have any more influence in this town. If you don't quit 
your attack on fodder-corn, I will run you off the board of 
selectmen next year, or my name is n't Peter." 

Mr. Hopkins found it was high time to interfere. He 
called Peter Ilsley to order, reminded him that an honest 
difference of opinion was always allowable, and mildly sug- 
gested that he had better try a few experiments in the 
millet and fodder-corn business, before he condemned his 
neighbor Thomas in such unmeasured terms. Here the 
debate ended. Everybody regretted the quarrel. The 
members of the Club dispersed, but not as joyfully as on 
former occasions ; they withdrew rather stiffly from the 
house, and Mr. Hopkins and Mr. Howe were left alone to 



CATTLE. 8 1 

cheer themselves and remove the cloud, by conversing 
upon social life in America, and enlarging upon the 
vitalizing influence of free citizenship on the mind and 
heart. When they separated, the little strife was all 
forgotten by them. 



82 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 



SIXTH MEETING. 

CA TTLE (Continued). 

JOHN THOMAS AND HULDAH. - FAMILY JARS. — PEACE. — MODES OF 
FEEDING CATTLE. — CHARLES INGALLS APPEARS. 

1 HE ill-feeling which manifested itself at the close of the 
last meeting of the Club did not readily pass away. John 
Thomas was very proud of his farming, and especially 
proud of his position as chairman of the board of select- 
men, — an office which he had held many years, and which 
had been filled by his ancestors for many generations. 
Peter Ilsley was his old friend also, and it was by no 
means pleasant to have his official head threatened by one 
who had heretofore stood by him in all controversy, and 
had never allowed any charge against him to go unre- 
buked. Had he been told that he must be more discreet 
in his expressions or retire from the committee, he could 
have borne that with some degree of composure ; but his 
official status was sacred to him, and he felt that, rather 
than jeopardize such a record and such an honor as he had 
won among his townsmen, he would quit the Club and all 
its associations. But then he remembered that he had 
many friends there who were always ready to support him, 
and whom he could not afford to offend. He was, more- 
over, beginning to enjoy the companionship of Mr. Howe 
and Mr. Hopkins ; and his wife and Mrs. Howe were fast 
becoming very intimate, much to the comfort and delight 
and benefit of both, as he could easily see. Still, he was 
very angry ; and when he had reached home and put 
up his horse, and had seated himself before the fire with 



CA TTLE. 



83 



Huldah, the cloud still hung heavily over his brow. Hul- 
dah could not imagine the cause of the trouble ; she first 
thought of some loss in a bargain, then she looked about 
the room to see if the disturbing influence could be found 
in any disorder there ; but at last she remembered to have 
heard something about " the proud man's contumely," and 
she began to suspect that Mr. Hopkins had been putting 
on airs unconsciously, and had manifested a little of that 
imperiousness which sometimes worked well enough on 




JOHN THOMAS AND HULDAH. 

State Street, but would never be tolerated among the hills 
of Jotham. She knew it would be useless to ask John 
directly what was the matter ; for she had lived long 
enough with him to know that he belonged to that class 
of men who always answer by indirection, or offset one 
question by asking another. She knew John was honest 
and fair-minded and honorable ; but she also knew that he 
had great hereditary secretiveness, and considered it one 
qualification of a good business m.an to keep his own coun- 



84 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

sel, in small matters as well as in large, as many men 
begin by filing their important papers, and end by filing 
all they have, good, bad, and indifferent. So she began 
by asking if the night was cold, and John replied that it 
was. She then asked if the horse had got over his lame- 
ness, and she was told that he had. She inquired if the 
barn was in good order, and she learned that it was. She 
then expressed an interest in the health of Mr. Hopkins, 
and was told that he never seemed better, and that he had 
boasted of the invigorating influence of the air of Jotham 
upon himself. There was evidently no trouble with Mr. 
Hopkins. She then got round to the debate, and she said 
she hoped John had succeeded in telling what he knew 
about feeding cattle, — for she felt quite proud of his skill 
and success in this branch of business. At this point 
John hitched his chair towards the fire, and said he had 
got along full as well as he expected ; and here he paused, 
and Huldah knew that something had gone wrong in the 
discussion. She felt satisfied that this experience was so 
new to John, and that he was so sensitive with regard to it 
as a novel and untried duty, that if she let him alone he 
would open the subject himself What he knew and was 
confident of he could keep ; what was surrounded with 
doubt and left him groping in the dark he could not keep, 
and she knew it. So she stirred the fire, put on a good 
dry stick, picked up the lamp, and set to work with her 
needles. 

" Going to sit up all night?" said John, somewhat tartly. 

"No," said she ; " I thought you might want to get warm 
before going to bed ; and I want to knit a few more rounds 
before I go ; and wood is plenty." 

At last John could stand it no longer, and he expressed 
a sudden and overwhelming wish that the Club had never 
been organized. He had had enough of it ; the only way 
to get along with people was to keep out of their company, 



CATTLE. 85 

he thought ; the wisest thing to do was to do nothing, and 
keep still, and look wise ; the safest thing to do was to 
throw the responsibility on other people's shoulders ; and 
the shrewdest thing to do was to shove other men into a 
scrape and keep out yourself. In uttering these views he 
grew quite warm, and ended by relating the strife between 
himself and Peter Ilsley, whom he denounced as unfit for 
decent society and a nuisance to the Club. 

" Now, John," said Huldah, gently and firmly, and in 
that subdued and monotonous tone which so often marks 
the woman who is mistress of her own house, and bears 
her part of the burdens of the farm, and knows and ap- 
preciates exactly the full measure of her authority, "you 
know better than all this. Peter Ilsley is a little rough, 
I know ; but he is honest, and one of the truest friends 
you have got. He won't hurt a hair of your head. If 
Brindle were sick to-morrow, and he knew it, he would be 
over here to help take care of her. I have no doubt he 
would say you provoked him, and I am afraid you did. 
You know he raises fodder-corn, and always has, and he 
does n't want to try anything else, and does n't really be- 
lieve there is anything better. Now, I heard you snap 
him up on this very thing, the other day, when you hardly 
knew it. He looked quite put down, and I could see that 
he was firmer than ever in his own way, through sheer 
temper, and a resolution to conceal his wounds. And I 
should n't wonder if you were a little pert with him in the 
Club. You were on a committee, and he was n't. You 
had been asked to read a piece, and he had n't. Now, 
don't you think, John, you were partly to blame ; and that 
you expected him to stand from you what you would n't 
stand a minute from Mr. Hopkins or Mr. Howe or Dr. 
Parker .? " 

John began to relent, and to feel half ashamed of having 
lost his temper. And he made up his mind to say no 



86 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

more about the matter, but let it pass quietly ; for a 
making-up scene he abhorred. 

Peter Ilsley did not get along so well. He stumped vig- 
orously and indignantly home alone, pulled off his cow- 
hide boots, threw them violently behind the door, damned 
John Thomas and his millet and turnips, and went to 
bed and went to sleep ; and woke up the next morning, 
milked his cows, sent his milk to market, started for the 
mill with a grist, and was as good-natured as ever. He 
met Clara Bell on the way, as rosy and sweet as the 
dawn, and asked after the Doctor ; and Clara blushed. 
And he told Jim Bell, the miller, that if he wanted music 
he had better join the Farmers' Club. " Why," said he, 
" you ought to see Cap'n John swing round, and hear the 
Doctor talk wise, and watch Major Phin. going to sleep, 
and see the Parson coo round Squire Hopkins, and see 
how stiff Deacon Bill sits up, and hear Bill Jones talk 
horse. I would n't miss the meetings for a farm down 
East. I pitched into Cap'n John, last night, like a bull 
through a gate. I go for him, you know, for anything ; 
but he must n't set himself up. It is a bad thing to know 
too much, — or think you know everything." 

Jim Bell agreed with him, and began to discuss the best 
way to pick his millstones, and to stop muskrats from dig- 
ging holes in the mill-dam. 

Mr. Howe knew well enough that " the beginning of 
strife is as when one letteth out water," and he determined 
to divert the current quietly and silently, and secure peace 
without allowing any man to be recognized as a peace- 
maker ; knowing well that a meddling peacemaker is 
often a cause of more disturbance than a violent and noisy 
brawler. He sent, therefore, for John Thomas, and, with- 
out alluding to the trouble, he suggested to him that he 
should send the schoolmaster to Boston, the next day, to 
get the last volumes of Flint's Reports of the Massachusetts 



CA TTLE. 



87 



Board of Agriculture, and offer him five dollars to write 
an essay on Feeding, Steaming, and Soiling. And so he 
did. The schoolmaster, who was a farmer's boy, and had 
worked on his father's farm before he entered Dartmouth 
College, was delighted. He entered upon his work with 
great zeal, and before the next meeting reported to Mr. 
Howe that his writing was a real pleasure to him, and he 
hoped he should not disappoint the gentlemen who had 
invited him to address the Club. 

The schoolmaster had steadily attended all the meet- 
ings of the Club, and had made himself familiar with the 
mode of disputation which had been adopted. He was 
devoted to his business as a teacher, and kept his mind 
carefully prepared for every emergency which might arise 
in his school ; and inasmuch as his father had at great 
personal sacri- 
fice sent him to 
school and col- 
lege, in order 
that he might 
prepare himself 
for the profes- 
sion of the law, 
he felt in duty 
bound to neglect 
no opportunity, 
and he was de- 
termined to take 
a high stand in 
his class, and 
discharge his 
duty faithfully 
in the school-house. He was a tall, broad-shouldered youth, 
with a heavy mass of black hair, a pale, solemn face, deep- 
set eyes, and a broad and massive brow ; thoughtful and 




CHARLES INGALLS. 



88 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

somewhat taciturn, but full of humor, and possessing a 
sturdy strength of expression. He seemed to be full of 
great, powerful emotion ; alluded often to his older brother, 
for whom he had evidently the most profound affection ; 
had written a tale, which he was fond of reading to his 
intimate friends, and which was remarkable for the delicacy 
of its humor, its instinctive knowledge of the human heart, 
and for a style in which a grand and massive English phrase 
was inlaid with a wealth of Oriental imagery which colored 
it with peculiar charms. He was a youth of most pro- 
found repose, and with a glowing enthusiasm. The men 
who knew him wondered, and the women who knew him 
loved. 

It was not until the very tick of half past seven that the 
members of the Club gathered at the house of Mr. Hop- 
kins ; and then they all came at once, and took their seats 
silently and in order. 

Mr. Hopkins announced, " Our young friend, Charles 
Ingalls, the schoolmaster," who proceeded at once to read 
his essay on 

THE VARIOUS MODES OF FEEDING CATTLE. 

I have listened with profound pleasure to the practical wis- 
dom which characterized the discourse of Mr. Thomas on the 
care of animals. His knowledge of and sympathy with cattle 
could not fail to impress the most careless listener ; and to my- 
self, whose early and most intimate companions on my father's 
farm were the domestic animals, his words had a peculiar 
charm. I was especially struck with the simplicity of his plan. 
He has evidently reduced his work to the most convenient sys- 
tem ; and I am sure he has been able to do this on account of 
the fortunate supply of forage crops with which we are pro- 
vided in this country. We cannot be too grateful for this. 
When a prosperous farmer, drawing his wisdom from his own 
experience, can say, as Mr. Thomas did, that the foundation of 



CATTLE. 89 

all feeding is good English hay, and that grain and roots con- 
stitute the sum total of the variety required by the health of the 
animal, he should realize how fortunately his lines have been 
drawn, and how simple his dairy farming is, when compared 
with that of other and, in this respect, less favored countries. 
I have just been reading the mode of feeding laid down by Mr. 
Horsfall, one of the most intelligent agricultural explorers and 
writers in England, and I am most forcibly struck with the in- 
tricacy of the plan which he deems needful for animal health, 
made intricate, as I think, by a necessary absence of good hay. 
He says : " My food for milch cows, after having undergone 
various modifications, for two seasons has consisted of rape-cake 
five pounds and bran two pounds, for each cow, mixed with a 
sufficient quantity of bean-straw, oat-straw, and shells of oats, 
in equal proportions, to supply them three times a day with as 
much as they will eat. The whole of the materials are mois- 
tened and blended together, and after being well steamed are 
given to the animal in a warm state. The attendant is allowed 
a pound to a pound and a half per cow, according to cir- 
cumstances, of bean-meal, which he is charged to give to each 
cow in proportion to the yield of milk ; those in full milk get- 
ting each two pounds per day, others but little. It is dry, and 
mixed with the steamed food on being dealt out separately. 
When this is eaten up, green food is given, consisting of cab- 
bages from October to December, kohl rabi till February, and 
mangold till grass-time, with a view to nicety of flavor. I limit 
the quantity of green food to thirty or thirty-five pounds per 
day for each. After each feed, four pounds of meadow hay, or 
twelve pounds per day is given to each cow. They are allowed 
water twice a day, to the extent which they will drink." 

A combination of bean-straw, rape-cake, linseed, cotton-seed, 
steamed shorts, and barley-straw is a formidable affair for a 
farmer in moderate circumstances to contemplate. And when 
to this is added the necessity of giving the cows a feed of this 
mixture morning and night, even during the good grass season 
of May, in order to get from twelve to sixteen quarts of milk 
per day, the labor becomes truly discouraging. Let the Ameri- 
can farmer rejoice that no such trials surround him. 



90 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

Your minds must have been attracted by the frequent allu- 
sion to STEAMING food for Cattle in the foreign treatises on 
the subject we are now considering. As near as I can ascer- 
tain, this artificial and somewhat expensive mode of feeding is 
practised in England, for the purpose of converting coarse and 
inferior articles of food into digestible and nutritious sub- 
stances. For this object it is said to work well. On the cele- 
brated Tiptree farm of Mr. Mechi it was introduced as a part 
of an intricate and extravagant mode of farming, which con- 
sisted of tanks, steam-engines, pipes, pumps, liquid manures, 
irrigation, and general machinery ; and Mr. Mechi gives us 
assurances that he found the food prepared in this manner to 
be very nutritious for both cattle and horses. He only aban- 
doned it when he found it impossible to make his foreman 
attend to its preparation. Experiments have been made in 
this country on a scale much less elaborate and expensive than 
that adopted by Mr. Mechi, it is true ; but, except in cases 
where the surplus steam of a mill could be carried into the 
barns and stables and utilized there at a small cost, it has 
been generally abandoned. It has been found that the labor 
and fuel necessary to convert coarse fodder into useful articles 
of food bring the cost of the food thus prepared up to a point . 
beyond the price of more nutritious and finer materials, which 
do not need the effects of steam. Good English hay, moreover, 
which can be used to advantage in chopped feed, is not im- 
proved by steaming. And corn-fodder and straw can be more 
economically prepared with hot water in a well-covered box in 
which the fodder, mixed with meal and shorts, is allowed to soak 
and soften for a few hours, than by the use of a steam-apparatus. 
Steaming, as a part of a pure system of farming, is rapidly being 
abandoned in the preparation of chopped feed ; and I learn from 
the Reports of the Highland Agricultural Society that it is un- 
necessary in the feeding of roots, it having been found that the 
roots, when raw, are more nutritious to cattle than when steamed. 
Six heifers and four steers, the former two, the latter four years 
old, were selected on the 20th of February, 1833, and fed on 
steamed and raw food alternately, weighed, and an accurate 



CATTLE. 91 

account kept of their cost, expenses, and condition. For the 
purpose of the experiment they were divided into two lots, the 
heifers three in each lot, and the steers two. 

The heifers were allowed as many purple-topped Swedish 
turnips, topped, rooted, properly cleaned and cut into pieces, 
so that they could get them into their mouths, as they could 
consume, with three pounds of bruised beans and twenty 
pounds of potatoes, each beast per day, in addition to the 
turnips, with seven pounds of straw each. 

The steers were allowed as many of the same sort of turnips 
as they could eat, with four and a half pounds of bruised beans 
and thirty pounds of potatoes each beast per day, with seven 
pounds of straw each. That is to say, the food of the steers 
and heifers was the same, only with this difference, that the 
steers were allowed one and a half pounds of beans and ten 
pounds of potatoes more per beast than the heifers each day. 

One lot of heifers and one of steers was put upon steamed, 
and the other lot of heifers and steers was put upon raw food. 

Both lots, the cattle on steamed as well as raw food, were fed 
three times a day, at daybreak, at noon, and lastly an hour 
before sunset. 

It was soon discovered that the cattle fed on steamed food 
consumed considerably more turnips than those fed on raw 
food ; the steamed food being 94 cwt. 14 lbs. of turnips for 
twenty-eight days of two cattle, about 195 pounds per day; and 
the raw food being 70 cwt. for the same time, about 140 pounds 
per day. 

It was also found that the cost of keeping the three heifers 
for one week on steamed food was $ 4.93, while the cost of 
keeping the same heifers on raw food for one week was % 3.62, 
giving an additional cost on the heifers fed on steamed food of 
$ 1.3 1 per week. 

The estimates on the feeding of the steers arrive at similar 
results ; the loss on one steer fed on steamed food being 
eighty-two cents, while the profit on one steer fed on raw food 
was % i./i^\. 

These facts are worthy of careful consideration, and should 



92 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

not be overlooked by the farmer in this country, where labor 
and fuel are so expensive that they cannot possibly be devoted 
to the work of increasing the amount of food consumed, with 
any hope or expectation of profit. They can only be used to 
advantage in reality when by them the amount can be reduced 
in quantity and improved in quality. 

In examining the records of many agricultural societies 
which have been placed in my hands, and in reading the 
essays which have been prepared by enterprising farmers, both 
in this country and in England, I have been peculiarly impressed 
with the zeal with which the system of feeding cattle by soiling 
has been defended. The late Hon. Josiah Quincy has left on 
record some very careful experiments in this business, and he 
seems to have convinced himself that it is really profitable to 
the farmer and beneficial to the cattle. I think, however, in a 
country like ours, where pasturing is comparatively cheap, the 
weight of evidence is against it. It may answer pretty well for 
the feeding of cows near a milk market. But it seems to me it 
cannot be employed in the manufacture of butter and cheese, 
in which business we are obliged to compete with remote sec- 
tions of the country where hay and pasturage can be obtained 
at a very moderate cost. 

I submit the following estimate of the comparative expense 
of soiling and pasturing twenty cows from June ist to Novem- 
ber 15th, — five and a half months, — which has been furnished 
me by an intelligent friend, who is deeply interested in the sub- 
ject of agriculture. 

In making this estimate he has taken seventeen acres of land, 
— the amount specified for this number of cows by the advo- 
cates of soiling. He has considered that land in condition to 
support these cattle would yield two tons of hay to the acre. 
He has estimated the price of pasture land at the average rates 
of good land of this description, and has allowed four acres of 
this land for the support of each cow. He has endeavored to 
take a fair expense of a man per month, including his board, 
and has allowed for the manure of the cattle all that is claimed 
for it. He considers that a good pasture will support cattle 



CA TTLE. 93 

.properly, and has omitted all comparisons of the health of ani- 
mals confined and at large in the summer season, and of the 
quality of the milk yielded under the different circumstances. 
He has estimated the cost of pasturing rather above the aver- 
age, and has charged no expense of litter against soiling. And 
here follows his estimate : — 

Land required for soiling 20 cows from June I to November 15, 

5^ months, 1 7 acres. 
Value of hay which might be grown on this land, — thirty-four 

tons at $ 10 per ton, standing $ 340 

Labor of feeding, etc., one man at $30 per month, including 

board 165 

Aggregate expense of soiling 5^5 

Cr. by manure, as estimated 200 

Net expense of soiling 3^5 

Pasture, 80 acres at $ 30 per acre 2,400 

Interest on cost of pasture I44 

Annual repairs on fences 10 

Expense of pasturing 1 54 

Balance due on account of soiling over pasturing . . . 151 

He does not take into this account the interest on the cost of 
the 17 acres of land used in soiling, nor the loss of the land for 
the supply of winter forage, nor the expense of converting the 
droppings of the cows into $ 200 worth of manure ; neither does 
he calculate the expense of cultivating the 17 acres of land. 

I cannot speak from experience, Mr. President, but I am sat- 
isfied from what I can learn by the experience of others that 
soiling, except for a small business and in a convenient spot, is 
no legitimate part of farming. It rather belongs to the luxuries, 
and seems to be an expensive luxury at best. 

I suppose I shall be authorized to consider here the amount 
of food furnished by various crops as a part of the business I am 
now discussing. Without entering into any accurate calculation 
of the cost of keeping cattle on different kinds of food, I pro- 
pose to make a short comparison of the amount of food fur- 



94 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

nished by the various crops used for feeding, from a given piece 
of ground. 

Taking 2 tons of hay per acre as the basis of calculation, and 
as representing the kind of cultivation which is employed, we 
may concede that an acre of land will yield the following crops : 
hay 2 tons ; Swedish turnips, 18 tons; mangold-wurzel, 20 tons; 
carrots, 25 tons; Indian corn, 70 bushels. 

The practical value as obtained by experiments in feeding 
are : hay, 100 pounds are equivalent to 300 pounds of Swedish 
turnips, 400 pounds of mangold wurzel, 250 pounds of carrots, 
and 50 pounds of Indian corn. 

Dividing the number of pounds of each of these crops on an 
acre, according to the estimates above, by the number of pounds 
representing the practical value of each for food, and we have, 
as results, figures which will express the comparative yield of 
each acre, according to the crop occupying it. For instance : 
hay, per acre, 4,000 pounds, divided by 100 equals 40; Swedish 
turnips, per acre, 36,000 pounds, divided by 300 equals 120; 
mangold wurzel, per acre, 40,000 pounds, divided by 400 equals 
ICO ; carrots, per acre, 50,000 pounds, divided by 250 equals 
200 ; corn, per acre, 4,550 pounds, divided by 52 equals Sy-i. 

According to this table, an acre will yield three times as much 
food in turnips as in hay ; two and one half times as much in 
mangolds as in hay ; five times as much in carrots, as in hay ; 
and about two and one fifth times as much in corn as in hay. 

Now, in order to arrive at the cost of feeding the above arti- 
cles to cattle, and at the comparative value of each as an article 
of food, we must be able to ascertain the prices which they bear 
in different localities, the advantages of the market, the cost of 
labor, and the kind and value of the cattle which are fed. I 
have furnished the figures for the benefit of those who desire to 
ascertain, if possible, the most economical and useful crops for 
cattle iiusbandry. There is no doubt that valuable as hay is, as 
an article of food, and universal as is its use here, there are 
crops which form a useful ally to it in the business of carry- 
ing cattle through the winter. The question is, which of these 
crops is the best for such a purpose, — the most economical and 



CA TTLE. 95 

profitable ? There are sections where the corn crop will not 
ripen, and where the cultivation of roots would do much to- 
ward enabling the farmer to support all the cattle in winter 
which his pastures will bear in summer, — a state of things 
which does not now exist. In some regions the hay crop is 
large, hay is cheap and labor scarce. The farmer there must 
judge for himself how far it will pay to devote himself to any 
other than the hay crop. Circumstances vary as localities vary, 
and it is they alone which can guide the intelligent farmer in 
the management of his land for his cattle, and can enable 
him to judge of the cost of feeding them, as well as to decide 
upon the breed best adapted to his purpose. 

If I have elaborated my remarks more than is deemed neces- 
sary by this Club, I can only ask to be excused on the ground 
that want of intimate knowledge has rendered it necessary for 
me to expand and dilate where the practical farmer here might 
condense to a better purpose. 

The schoolmaster had done well, they all said. Some 
of the gentlemen present thought he might perhaps have 
said less had he known more ; and they hardly felt the 
necessity of discussing steaming and soiling, inasmuch as 
none of them intended to adopt either. But they had 
learned that such discussions were customary with all 
clubs, and they were determined that theirs should not be 
outdone by any others in the difficult work in which their 
minds were engaged. The sweeping sentences of the 
lecturer had had one effect at least, — they had borne the 
Club back to its original amiability and repose; and accept- 
ing the figures on corn and turnips, and believing in the 
estimates of the comparative value of different crops as 
food for cattle, they entered into a good-natured general 
conversation, in which William Jones remarked, without 
the slightest idea of being personal, that he did not see 
how it was that a man who felt himself to be unable to 
discuss other questions unless he was well-informed, felt 



96 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

entirely competent to discuss farming whether he knew 
anything about it or not. 

"But then, the schoolmaster is a nice fellow," said Mr. 
Howe, as they dispersed ; " and Mrs. Howe says he has 
written one little poem almost as good as Emerson's 'Hum- 
blebee.' " Enviable Charles Ingalls ! 



CA TTLE. 97 



. SEVENTH MEETING. 

CATTLE {Continued). 

SPRING OPENS —A NORTHEAST STORM. — DISEASE AND WEAKNESS 
IN COWS. — THE MILK-MIRROR. 

jdEFORE the Club met again, spring had blown its first 
soft warm breath over the hills and vales and waters of Jo- 
tham. In the deep shady hollows and in the dense woods 
small patches of dingy and departing snow might still be 
found ; but the forests began to take on the soft pale green 
complexion of the just opening bud ; the little whirls of dust 
marked where a sharp spring breeze struck suddenly on 
the winding highway ; the lake rippled and sparkled in the 
sunlight, and seemed to laugh with joy at being released 
from its icy chains ; the brooks ran like miniature torrents 
and roared through the channels where in midsummer 
they babbled ; the hepatica came out clad in its furry coat ; 
the anemone danced forth into its airy life ; the dog-tooth 
violet and the bloodroot were just peeping up ; and the 
mayflower loaded with its perfume the languid air. The 
young cattle had already left the barns, and taken their 
first bite of the early spring grass, and were reposing in 
the warm, sheltered nooks, where they renewed their sweet 
intimacy with nature, rejoiced in the quickened life which 
flowed through their veins, and saluted with a steady and 
half-suspicious gaze their owners whom they had known 
so well in the stalls, but who suddenly became compara- 
tive strangers when nature invited its dumb children to 
return to their inborn allegiance. The domestic animals 
had not all left their winter quarters ; but the farmers had. 
7 



98 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

There was no more winter work for them ; no more prepa- 
ration for the summer. The time had arrived when work 
meant work, and leisure meant leisure. The pleasant days 
were toilsome enough, but the stormy days were full of 
repose and rest, and seemed to give the earth new life and 
man new strength to cultivate it. 

When the day of the Club meeting came round, a cold 
northeast storm had set in as an offset to a short season of 
almost summer warmth. As it rained and blew, the outer 
world seemed to be inspired \vith a new and wild life. 
The great trees swung their arms with huge force like 
giants at their exercise ; the earth drank in the vitalizing 
waters ; the peeping grass rejoiced in the gloom, and the 
living forces of the soil could almost be heard in their vig- 
orous work. The grazing animals fled to the woods ; the 
barns were closed and silent ; the plough rested in the 
furrow where the storm had caught it ; and the farmers of 
Jotham betook themselves to their newspapers and books, 
or to the neighborly shelter of the village store, or the post- 
office, or the hospitable shops of the mechanics. It was a 
great day for the wheelwright and the blacksmith and the 
shoemaker and the postmaster and grocer. All questions 
known to the village were discussed, — the parson and 
his sermons, the politics of the time, the new bridge, Mr. 
Hopkins's farm, and the Club. The members of this new 
and vigorous institution were particularly active in dis- 
cussing its merits and in overhauling each other. They 
had evidently grown quite familiar with the personal char- 
acteristics which came together at the meetings; and those 
who did not belong discovered in those who did a sort of 
confidential intimacy which was quite fascinating. Dr. 
Parker's theories were examined over and over again; Mr. 
Howe's agricultural zeal was expatiated upon ; the school- 
master's views on steaming and soiling were rehearsed 
and indorsed ; and John Thomas would have received his 



CA TTLE. 99 

share of the criticism had he not been found in the group 
of critics. 

" Sharp talk, I hear, in the Club, sometimes," said the 
grocer; "and now and then a little mixed, like Cap'n 
Joe's farming. Joe was a sea-captain ; run a line from 
Boston to Havana. Joe was a first-rate sailor. I made 
one voyage with him, years ago. But he got tired of the 
sea and took to farming. I knew his farm. Well, he 
bought a yoke of oxen and an old mare and some ploughs 
and things, and hired Sam Seaver, his old cabin-boy, to 
work for him. Sam was a good sailor too. So Cap'n Joe 
told Sam, one morning, to take the oxen and plough and 
old mare, and break up a little piece, back of the barn, for 
corn ; and Sam went to work. Cap'n Joe went into the 
house. But Cap'n Joe had n't more 'n got his pipe lighted 
before Sam rushed in. ' Look here, Cap'n,' said Sam, ' I 
am getting awfully mixed, out here. The starboard ox 
has got over on to the larboard side ; and the larboard ox 
has got over on to the starboard side. The old mare is 
right athwart-ships ; and as for the plough, God knows 
what has become of that. Jupiter, Cap'n Joe, come out 
and help a fellow. Things is awfully mixed.'" 

The grocer always told long stories, with a good deal 
of "says he" and "says I," and John Thomas thought he 
had got oft^ quite well when the story ended, and the 
laugh came in. But as he had no responsive tale, not 
being given to story-telling, he slipped out at the door, left 
the talkers to discuss him, too, saying, as he went, " The 
Club is well enough," and strolled over to Mr. Howe's, to 
see what arrangements he had made for the Club meeting, 
in the evening. He found the Parson at work on his 
sermon, and Mrs. Howe making butter. It was soon 
arranged that the debate in the Club should be general, 
and each member should tell his experience in the cattle 
business. John then started for Dr. Parker, and found 



lOO THE FARM- YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

him seeking shelter from the storm in Jim Bell's sitting- 
room, and discoursing with the lovely Clara. Mr. Hop- 
kins he called on, and discovered him sitting before his 
fire, smoking his cigar and reading Stephens's Book of the 
Farm ; and Mr. Hopkins was reminded of the meeting, and 
informed of the course proposed for the debate. When 
he reached home he found Huldah as cheerful and busy 
as ever, and he found his home a better " port in a storm " 
than the grocery or the blacksmith's shop or the post- 
office. 

In the evening the Club was crowded. The storm was 
still raging ; but the members defied it for the sake of the 
cheering influences of that club-room which Mr. Hopkins 
had provided for them, all winter, where they knew they 
could escape from all that was dismal, and find in each 
other's society an exhilaration which they had not deemed 
possible until they had gathered together, time after time, 
for a common object, and that object the improvement of 
their minds. 

Mr. Hopkins called the assembly to order with his usual 
promptness ; and, without the formality of reading the 
record of the last meeting, he proceeded to review in a few 
words the ground which had been passed over, and to 
announce the plan of debate which had been adopted for 
the evening. "We have listened," he said, "to elaborate 
and carefully prepared essays upon cattle from the scien- 
tific, the educated, and the experienced ; and it seems to 
me that, in a concise and condensed manner, we have ex- 
plored the subject of cattle until every gentleman present 
ought to be able to select and feed and care for the best. 
I have certainly learned much of the animal structure best 
adapted to milk and to beef, and I think I understand the 
best mode of feeding and the best articles of food far bet- 
ter now than when I began. I doubt not, however, there 
are many valuable suggestions which you can make with 



CATTLE. lOI 

regard to this interesting and important branch of hus- 
bandry. We have learned how to select and how to feed, 
and I shall be much obliged to the gentlemen present if 
they will, without introduction by the Chair, express their 
views upon such practical points as may occur to them." 

Peter Ilsley was at once on his feet, and asked if any- 
body present could tell the cause of abortion in cows and 
suggest the remedy. '* I have been bothered to death," 
said he, " twice within the last twenty years, by my cows 
losing their calves. Sometimes I have no trouble for three 
or four years, and then, perhaps, two or three cows out of 
my thirty will slip for a few seasons. This, I know, may 
be accidental, perhaps from one cause, perhaps from 
another ; but when matters get to be so bad that for 
twelve months I don't have a single cow go her full time, 
as has happened to me twice since I began farming, it 
seems to be about time for something to be done. I sup- 
pose you can get rid of it by selling off your cows and 
buying new ones ; but men who make milk for a living 
can't stand that. And you can get what milk the cows 
will give after losing their calves in this way ; but this will 
only be about half a mess ; and how can a farmer hope to 
live in that way. Now, can anybody tell the remedy, or 
must we get on with it as we do with thunder and light- 
ning, small-pox and measles .-' " 

Dr. Parker replied that the causes of abortion, especially 
of what may be called contagious abortion, in a herd of 
cows, are many and various. Dr. Dalton, in his investiga- 
tions in New York, found out this truth, and really noth- 
ing more. His observations and statistics proved that, as 
there is no common cause, so there is no common remedy. 
Isolated cases may be caused by sudden change of food, 
from hay to grass or from grass to hay. They may be 
caused by a change in the weather ; by sudden and vio- 
lent exertion ; by food of a poor quality, bad hay, musty 



I02 THE FARM- YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

grain ; by starvation ; by natural physical weakness. But 
all this is trivial when compared with that overwhelming 
disaster to which Mr. Ilsley refers. The cause of this 
remains undiscovered ; and the evil, so far as we know, 
must be submitted to with the same patience that we 
exercise under any other trial. He happened to be con- 
sulted in a case very much like that presented by Mr. 
Ilsley. In a herd of fifty cows, not one escaped within a 
year. The disorder, if it can be called so, began in the 
autumn, just after the cows came to the barn for the win- 
ter, two or three cases occurring at first and attracting but 
little attention, but being followed by case after case, until 
the value of the herd was almost destroyed, and the busi- 
ness was almost broken up. No cause for this was ever 
discovered. The hay was examined, but it seemed to be 
in the same condition as all the other hay on adjoining 
farms. The grain, the water, the barn, all were explored 
to no purpose. And relief was only found in selling the 
cows and buying new ones. The cows that left the farm 
did well enough, and the cows that were newly brought to 
it also did well enough. The Doctor added, that if he 
were compelled to suggest a remedy for such a catastro- 
phe, he should advise cleanliness ; uniform temperature in 
the stable as far as possible ; good ventilation, especially 
if the buildings are old and the accumulations of filth on 
and beneath the floor are great and of long standing ; 
keeping the cows in uniformly good condition, and not 
allowing them to be abused. He said that if he found the 
difficulty occurring where the floor and walls of the stable 
were old, half rotten and dirty, he should advise laying a 
new floor and building new walls, on the idea that the 
musty exhalations from decaying and filthy wood might 
produce upon the system of the cow an influence similar 
to that produced upon the human system by imperceptible 
poisonous miasmas. 



CATTLE. 103 

" Much obliged, Doctor," said William Jones ; " but I 
never could see the real value of submission, or 'whatever 
is, is right,' or ' thankful for favors given, and patient when 
favors are denied,' and all that in the business of life, and 
as the result of science. I am willing to be resigned to 
my fate when the minister tells me to be ; but I don't want 
that kind of advice from my doctor." 

Dr. Parker quietly remarked that the profession of medi- 
cine required as much humility as the profession of divin- 
ity, and that intellectual arrogance was as unpardonable in 
one as in the other ; adding that he was inclined to think, 
after all, that it required as much faith to get well as it does 
to get to heaven. 

" Well," said Hill John, " let us get out of this fog, any- 
how. Can anybody here tell me what a milk-mirror is 
really good for } " 

" Yes," said Peter Ilsley, " I believe I can. When the 
Frenchman came out with his theories about the signifi- 
cance of the various arrangements of the hair under a cow's 
tail and down along her udder, I set to work and examined 
my cows to find out whether he was right. I had the 
Frenchman's sixty-four varieties of mirrors or escutcheons, 
and I divided my cows into classes according to their 
marks. I found that cows which I had lately bought 
varied very much even when they had good mirrors, ow- 
ing, I suppose, to the different ways in which they had 
been fed and taken care of before I got them. But among 
my old cows which I had fed myself for several years, and 
which had got used to me and my feed and barns, I found 
the really good ones had usually good mirrors. With a 
good mirror generally go a good rib and foot and udder and 
milk-vein and shoulder and head and hide, all necessary to 
make a good milker. But a good mirror does not take the 
place of any of these other good marks. And so I have 
found a poor mirror on a good cow which had all the other 



104 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

good points, and a good mirror on a poor cow which had 
but few other good points. If a man cannot select a good 
cow without examining her mirror, he cannot select her at 
all. For a mirror is by no means an unfailing sign. I 
read, the other day, that cows with a contracted and badly 
shaped mirror usually 'have large heads and a thick, hard 
hide ; being ordinarily in good condition. They are beau- 
tiful to look at, and seem to be well formed ; many of them 
are nervous and restive and not easily approached." Now, a 
cow hke this does n't amount to much, mirror or no mirror, 
and so I am in the habit of thinking that if you begin to 
examine a cow at the head and keep on you will find out 
whether she is a good one or not before you get as far as 
her tail. At the same time, if I were buying heifers which 
had never given milk, I should be careful to select those 
with good mirrors, expecting that I should stand a fair 
chance to get a good cow when they came to maturity, a 
fairer chance than I should without the mirror. But, after 
all, I 'd rather have a cow ready made, full grown. An 
old cow for milk and a young hen for eggs, is the true 
maxim." 

" But I find that the best of cows can be spoiled by bad 
milking," said Mr. Barnes, the blacksmith. 

"True enough," said John Thomas. " I have bought 
many a cow which did not promise remarkably well and 
did not do well the first season, and which, after a few 
months of careful feeding and regular milking, would come 
up beyond all account. I generally milk my best cows my- 
self ; and I know a skilful milker can increase the milk. 
A cow half milked will soon go dry. And I am sure that 
one half the difficulty which cows have in their udders, on 
our great milk farms, arises from the irritation caused by 
the milk left in the smaller tubes of the bag by careless 
and shiftless milkers. I would rather have a poor team- 
ster than a poor milker on my farm, — and both are bad 
enough." 



CA TTLE. 



105 



And now Mr. Hopkins spoke. " The cow is all very 
well," said he ; " but when you have got your cow and 
your pasture and your barn and hay-mow, the trouble has 
just begun. The mystery of making good butter and 
cheese, who can tell it all .'' I admire the modern dairy- 
rooms, the clean marble tables, the white glazed milk-pans, 
the neat and ingenious modern churn. But somehow the 
butter that came out of the old milk-room, with its wooden 
shelves and its windows slatted to keep the cats out, and 
its tin and old brown milk-pans, and more than all, that 
neat, maternal dairy-woman, has never been excelled. 
Why, I do not know ; but so it is. I have read about glob- 
ules, and deep milk-cans, 
and the value of jars to 
separate the cream from 
the milk, and the tem- 
perature of the churn, 
and the spatula and 
shaper. But they all 
sink into insignilicance 
before the mysterious 
power of the female 
butter - makers of our 
boyhood and youth. A 
sweet pasture is a very 
good thing, but a sweet 
dairy-woman is much 
better. I remember 
Mr. Flint says: 'Many 
things, indeed, concur to 
produce the best results, 
and it would be useless to underrate the importance of 
any ; but with the best of cows to impart the proper color 
and consistency to butter, the sweetest feed and purest 
water to secure a delicate flavor, the utmost care must 




DATRYM.A.IDS. 



1C6 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

still be bestowed by the dairymaid upon every process of 
manufacture, or else the best of milk and cream will be 
spoiled, or produce an article which will bring only the 
lowest price in the market, when with greater skill it 
might have obtained the highest.' A dairy-room of uni- 
form cool temperature, with clean, wooden shelves for the 
pans, good ventilation, removed from all odors (for butter 
absorbs odors with great ease), and arranged in a suitable 
corner of the cellar, is indispensable to every farm-house. 
Keep the temperature at about 60°. Use any churn you 
like ; they are all good, the simplest the best. They 
say eight ounces of salt are enough for ten pounds of 
butter. But they also say that you may salt it as much 
as you please, and it will not keep unless the buttermilk 
is all worked out of it. And as with butter, so it is with 
cheese. Everybody cannot make it well. I had an old 
friend who started out in farming just as I have done. 
He had good pastures, good water, good cows. Nancy, 
his dairy-woman, had a high reputation, — as //z>/^ proba- 
bly as a Jiircd reputation could be. He had an excellent 
dairy-room, too ; and he also had an ambition to get a 
premium for his cheese at the county cattle-show. He 
tried, and failed. His neighbor, Mrs. Wardwell, beat him 
— he knew not why. He listened to her advice, tried 
again, and again failed. He thought he had learned his 
lesson well, but somehow there was a failure. At last he 
bethought him that he had not used a thermometer, to 
ascertain whether or not the milk was of the right temper- 
ature to be converted by the rennet into curds. A ther- 
mometer he purchased with much trouble, hung it up in 
his cheese-room, consulted it, felt confident that his hour 
of triumph would soon come, and walked with an elastic 
step over to see Mrs. Wardwell and tell her of his good 
fortune. He found her making cheese, and, after some 
preliminary talk, he informed her that he had at last bought 



CATTLE. 107 

a thermometer, and thought he would now go on without 
further difficulty. 

" ' Bought a what ? ' said Mrs. Wardwell. 

" ' Bought a thermometer,' said my friend. 

" ' What 's a 'mometer ? ' exclaimed she. 

'"An instrument used to ascertain the temperature of 
air or liquids, and a very ingenious and useful instrument 
it is,' replied my friend. ' But, Mrs. Wardwell, what do 
you use to ascertain this important point in the manufac- 
ture of cheese.'' How do you find out, pray, whether the 
milk is warm enough or not } ' 

" ' How do I find out ! ' said she. ' Why, Lord-a-massy, 
I put my finger into it.' 

" It is this sensible skill, after all, which wins. But all 
have it not. And so we resort to books and instruments, 
and sometimes resort in vain. Hear .what Mrs. Williams of 
Windsor, Mass., said nearly twenty years ago, about cheese- 
making, — Mrs. Williams, who always reminded me of Mrs. 
Wardwell. She says : ' My cheese is made from one day's 
milk of twenty-nine cows. I strain the night's milk into a 
tub, skim it in the morning, and melt the cream in the 
morning's milk ; I warm the night's milk, so that with the 
morning's milk, when mixed together, it will be at the tem- 
perature of ninety-six degrees ; then add rennet sufficient 
to turn it in thirty minutes. Let it stand about half or 
three quarters of an hour ; then cross it oft^, and let it stand 
about thirty minutes, working upon it very carefully with 
a skimmer. When the curd begins to settle, dip off the 
whey, and heat it up and pour it on again at the tempera- 
ture of one hundred and two degrees. After draining off 
and cutting up, add a teacup of salt to fourteen pounds.' 
How well I remember this good lady's cheese, — as rich as 
Cheddar and as creamy as a Stilton. 

" I feel sure that the time will come w^hen Americans 
will consume more cheese than they now do. It is a most 



I08 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

nutritious article of. food, and I shall be glad when, instead 
of exporting six or seven millions of dollars' worth annu- 
ally, we shall use it at home, and export cloths, hats, and 
shoes. Cheese is most valuable, both as an article of food 
and as an appetizer. It contains 31.02 per cent of flesh- 
forming substances, and 25.30 per cent of heat-producing 
substances ; and it answers every purpose of meat in an 
economical and condensed form. So much for the dairy, 
my friends." 

" And now," said Peter Ilsley, " will some one tell us 
which is the best breed of cattle } " 

After a considerable pause, John Thomas undertook to 
answer this question. 

"I think," said he, " the Ayrshire, for all the ordinary 
business of the farm in New England, is the best cow that 
can be found. She has been bred, as I understand, for 
many years in Scotland, a country analogous to the north- 
ern portion of the United States, where the pastures are 
apt to be short and the winters long and cold. It is not 
easy to describe her in a way which will apply to all 
the individuals of a large herd or many herds ; because 
while they resemble each other in certain prominent 
and important points, such as udder, milk-vein, rib, head, 
leg, foot, and back, they differ widely in color and size. 
An Ayrshire cow can best be described as a hardy, 
medium-sized cow, with a great capacity to live on short 
pastures in summer and hard fare in winter ; and a 
capacity also to give the largest amount of milk on a 
moderate quantity of food. And this is what distinguishes 
her from all other cows. She comes nearer to the stand- 
ard laid down by Dr. Parker in one of the early meetings 
of our Club than any other breed I have ever seen, and 
for steady profit on our farms in this region I have never 
seen her equal. Her milk is as good as the average 
quality of milk given by our common cows, and is espe- 
ciallv well adapted to the manufacture of cheese. 



CA TTLE. 1 09 

" The Jersey stands next, I think, as a dairy cow. She 
differs very much from the Ayrshire ; is hghter, less hardy, 
somewhat deUcate and tender, needs a warm stable, and 
good food and a plenty of it. She is not a heavy milker ; 
but she is a valuable animal to be used on a gentleman's 
estate, to furnish butter of the best quality for his table. 
I have been told that Jersey butter is not well adapted to 
the market,^ as it easily becomes rancid in hot weather ; 
but for immediate consumption it is undoubtedly une- 
qualled. A good Jersey cow, in a warm stable, with plenty 
of good food, and an independent purse, is a luxury, espe- 
cially for the rich. For the milkman and the cheese- 
maker she will hardly answer. An infusion of her blood 
into a herd of natives, or even into good Ayrshires, often 
produces some of the most valuable of our cows. 

" The Shorthorn, or, as called when I was a boy, the 
Durham, is a very valuable cow for the rich pastures of 
New York and the West. In New England, on the 
common farm, they have a tendency to diminish in size ; 
and I have often seen them brought down almost to the 
size and shape of the Ayrshire. We cannot feed them to 
a profit on our pastures in Jotham. But where the grass is 
abundant, and the 'winters are comparatively mild, they are 
remarkable (unless bred according to the improved modern 
standard) for their capacity as milkers and their usefulness 
as dairy cows. We shall never see a finer beef-producing 
animal than the modern improved Shorthorn ; and we 
shall not soon see a more admirable and profitable dairy 
cow than the old-fashioned Durham, where hay is cheap 
and pasturage luxuriant. 

" From the three breeds which I have mentioned the 
farmer can supply himself with the best animals known, 
either pure or mixed one with another. The crossing of 
these breeds, in any manner, is almost sure to prove satis- 
factory ; and I think no intelligent farmer, in selecting 



no THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JO /'HAM. 

wisely from them and considering his farm and his market, 
can possibly go astray." 

After this concise and practical description of the cows 
to which the dairy farmer should turn his attention, the 
members of the Club looked about with the feeling that 
the cattle question was about exhausted, and not a word 
was said until the Schoolmaster arose and remarked: — 

I have listened with great interest, Mr. President, to the dis- 
cussions of the Club on the subject of cattle, not only on 
account of their immediate connection with the profitable busi- 
ness of farming, but because they belong to one of the most 
pleasing branches of agriculture. I need not tell you how we 
all depend upon the dumb creatures which wait upon us during 
life, and at their death feed and clothe us. From valley and 
hill, from prairie and mountain, they come flocking in, the 
patient servants of their imperious master. They offer them- 
selves a living sacrifice to the majesty of civilized man, suffer- 
ing as he yields to poverty and hardship and barbarism, and 
rising with him as he rises into his conditions of luxury and 
ease and economy and fitness of purpose. The great commu- 
nity of cattle, who shall write its history? How it has been 
controlled by the social laws which make the world what it is ; 
how it enables the great community of man to dwell here on 
the face of the earth ; how it stands the pedestal upon which a 
nobler fabric rests ; how its condition tells the tale of races 
higher in the scale of being. That strange and mysterious 
relation between man and animal, everywhere recognized, every- 
where felt ; that mutual dependence, each upon the other ; that 
intelligent appropriation and cultivation on the one hand, that 
unconscious and entire obedience and submission of all the 
great vital forces on the other, — who can tell it all ? And supe- 
rior as we may be, powerful, controlling, and independent, can 
any man contemplate the magnitude of the change were the 
sovereignty of this great community of cattle to be asserted, 
and man's dominion be suddenly broken ? From the feeding 
of armies and the sustaining of the busy throng who fill the 



CA TTLE. 



I I I 



places of power and trust, down to the nourishiiii;- drop 
which supports the feeble child in its first grasp upon life, it is 








the domestic annnal 
which hears one 
long and constant 
human appeal, and 
ne\ei hesitates in 
Its de\oted and self- 
saciificingrepl} In 
parks, m meadows, 
bcfoie the cottage 
dooi, with m entile 
and untesisting sub 
mission to ciicum- 
stances, there come 
to man, fiom his 
dumb all} food ind 
laiment and an un 
ceasing claim upon 
his skill and his 
humanity. It is the 
animal kingdom 

A HERD OF CATTLE. , . , ^ 

which forms one of 
the liveliest charms of a cultivated landscape in motion or in 
repose. And man never succeeds in subduing the earth, and 



112 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

realizing its quiet domestic beauty, until he has enlisted those 
servants, without whose aid agriculture must fail, and whose 
value is commensurate with the progress made in the great 
business of applying all animate and inanimate nature to the 
necessities and adornments of civilized life. 

The Schoolmaster's burst ended the long discussion of 
Cattle ; and at its close the Club adjourned, and the mem- 
bers departed thoughtfully, and turned their steps home- 
ward. 



FERTILIZERS. 1 1 3 



EIGHTH MEETING. 

FERTILIZERS. 

THE DISTRICT SCHOOL. —AN EDUCATIONAL STRUGGLE. 

JjEFORE the next meeting of the Ckib, the SchoohTiaster 
had finished his labors and had left Jotham. His school 
had been successful. He came into town without very- 
definite recommendations, and he had by the force of his 
character secured for himself great favor with the people. 
Not always had this been done by his predecessors in 
the school. The inhabitants of Jotham believed in educa- 
tion, it is true ; but they did not always believe in the 
schoolmaster, and not always in the school, when its ex- 
penses were added to the other town burdens in hard and 
unprosperous times. By law and custom, the rudiments of 
education had indeed been made a part of their social and 
civil system ; and the every-day duties of life reminded 
them constantly of the importance of mental culture. But 
the air of the school-house was not attractive ; its memories 
were not agreeable ; the trials and disappointments of their 
own school days, the tearful complaints of their children, 
the character of too many of the teachers, combined with 
the impression that school-keeping was an occupation taken 
up by those young men who were either unwilling to work 
or unable to get their subsistence in any other calling, all 
united to chafe and fret the practical and hard-working 
fathers, and to harden their hearts, and somewhat color 
their vision, towards the teacher and his calling. But. 
Charles Ingalls had overcome all this. He began his work, 
the Monday after Thanksgiving, in accordance with a cus- 



114 



THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 



torn of New England as old as the festival itself, and he 
had succeeded so well that his term had been prolonged 
by a unanimous vote of the committee to more than twice 
its usual length. His experience had been interesting. 
He had been selected by his father as the college-boy of 
the family, and had received from that good old man all 
that could be possibly spared from his scanty income, even 




THE DISTRICT SCHOOL-HOUSE. 



to the point of reducing his own wardrobe ; and he had 
also had bestowed upon him a pittance from the meagre 
allowance of his fond mother, whose heart warmed towards 
him who was destined to carry the family name into some 
one of the learned professions, perhaps into the high public 
service of his country. He had fitted for college as best 
he could, in the spare hours given him by his father from 
the work of the farm, for every moment of which his broth- 
ers had received some just consideration ; and he had re- 
ceived his final touches from the parish minister, who knew 
but little Latin and still less Greek, but who was quiteup 
to the college requirements of that day. He was now a 
Freshman in Dartmouth, had entered college when but 
sixteen years old, filled with good resolutions, and with a 
keen sense of his obligations to those self-sacrificing par- 
ents who had sent him there. This business of school- 



FERTILIZERS. II5 

keeping was a part of the plan of getting through college, 
he knew ; but of its practical operation he understood but 
little. It was, therefore, with many misgivings and much 
anxiety that he turned the key of his simple and unattrac- 
tive room in college, and started forth, conscious that be- 
fore he returned to it his first step would be taken in the 
work of making his way through life, — a step which, how- 
ever humble it might be, would indicate something of the 
amount of success or failure he was to meet with as he 
went on. It was the first time he had bent his bow, or 
thought of it ; and now he was to learn the keenness of his 
eye and the strength of his arm. As he approached his 
work his fears did not vanish. His compensation was not 
large, — sixteen dollars a month ; and he was to be exposed, 
moreover, to new scrutiny and new associations every week 
in " boarding round " among the families composing the 
district. 

When he reached the school-house the prospect was not 
cheering. It was a square, one-story building, with the 
remnants of an ancient coat of red paint clouded over its 
weather-worn walls, and with a plain heavy door which was 
scarred and battered by the blows of more than a half-cen- 
tury of educational contest, in which now the teacher and 
now the pupils had been triumphant. As that door swung 
upon its rude hand-made strap hinges, on the first morning 
of his labors, and he entered the school-room, the sight 
which met his eyes by no means tended to encourage his 
heart or strengthen his trembling knees. The centre of 
the room was occupied by a broad floor of worn and bro- 
ken bricks, on which stood an enormous cast-iron box stove, 
with a red-hot spot in the middle of the door, flaming Hke 
a carbuncle, and the whole structure roaring with joy as 
the flames rushed up the quivering funnel. From the 
floor to the wall, on either hand, rose two rows of seats, 
the upper row facing the wall and the lower row facing 



lie THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

the floor, — the upper for adults and the lower for children 
of tender years. Opposite the door stood the desk of the 
master, desk and seats worn, hacked, and dingy with long 
service. 

The room was crowded with fifty scholars of all ages and 
sizes, from five years old to twenty-five. On the higher 
seats to the left, with their broad backs turned towards 
the school, sat a long row of well-grown sturdy youths, 
upon some of whom the duties of social and civil life had 
already descended ; and opposite to these a row of taper- 
waisted young women, the pose and proportions of whose 
necks were as charming and attractive as that of the 
Fornarina in Raphaels great picture of the Ascension. 
When the master entered, the young women turned about 
to look upon him ; the young men did not. The children 
looked demure. 

It was a trying moment ; but the reading of the first 
chapter of Genesis brought relief, and the school began. 
The day passed heavily. The young men seemed to be 
taking the measure of the master ; the children recited 
their lessons in spelling with the vociferous tones which 
they had exercised among the hills all summer ; the young 
women were silent and bashful, — and so was Charles. 
At the close of the day he ventured to read to the school 
the opening speech of the Captain in Dana's " Two Years 
before the Mast " (let every reader turn to it if he would 
know what it is), was a little surprised at his own audacity, 
dismissed the scholars, and, as they went out, one by one, 
not yet familiarized to the rushing exit which a few days 
brought about, his eye fell on the graceful form and sweet 
face of Clara Bell, at the sight of whom his heart leaped 
suddenly and his veins glowed with a man's courage for 
his work. His first day was over, — but he knew nobody, 
and nobody knew him. 

It was not many days, however, before the fifty schol- 



FERTILIZERS. 11/ 

ars and the master settled into their business. Worces- 
ter's Geography, and Robinson's Arithmetic, and Murray's 
Grammar, and Walker's Dictionary were all called into 
play, and every form of line known to man was enlisted in 
the work of writing. Now and then a gentle murmur of 
revolt arose, but it soon died away. A half-dozen young 
gentlemen asked leave to sit " up Galilee," and, on its be- 
ing granted, they ascended to a gallery over the door, the 
object of which the master had until that moment been 
unable to imagine. And now the trials began. Galilee 
was in insurrection, and it was necessary that the diffi- 
culty should be suppressed at once, lest it should break out 
in Judaea also. The blood of his ancestors began to rise, 
and Charles Ingalls, true to the memory of those who had 
carried his name honorably through the old wars and the 
village struggles, marched single-handed into the revolted 
province. In an instant it was depopulated, its gates were 
closed, and its rebellious inhabitants were brought down 
in triumph to the lower regions, from which they had but 
recently risen. 

This first contest settled the question of supremacy, 
until, as a sequel to the revolt of the young men, the young 
women arose, and a more complicated trouble at once 
began. It was not Clara Bell, but it was another young 
woman, who seated herself one morning near the master's 
desk, and, when requested, refused to rise and go to her 
place. What was to be done } Clara's eye was on him ; 
he could not lay his hand on the form of one who reminded 
him of her, and his mother, too. He appealed in vain. 
There sat the obdurate female, deaf to all demands ; and 
there, true to all his chivalrous instincts, true to a sense of 
genuine wisdom and sagacity, he left her, waiting for time 
to settle her case ; and time did it. 

Erelong a" young gentleman arose and asked to be dis- 
missed ; the eyes of the reclining young woman turned at 



Il8 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOT HAM. 

once upon him, and as he passed out at the great door, 
that repentant female silently and speedily arose and fol- 
lowed him. Charles was relieved. His school was in 
peace ; his authority was preserved ; and he had learned 
the valuable lesson that it is easier to lead the people by 
placing before them what they desire, than it is to force 
them into channels of your own creating. From that day 
the school prospered ; the children liked the master and 
the master liked the children ; all labored together, and 
when the winter months had rolled round, Charles Ingalls 
found himself the favorite of the village, loved by the 
young, respected by the old, the right-hand man of Mr. 
Howe, the second tenor in the choir, the eloquent debater 
in the Club, and the friend of Dr. Parker, who had not yet 
discovered the blushing intimacy which had grown up be- 
tween the schoolmaster and Clara Bell. And when the 
school had closed, and the time arrived for him to return 
to his college studies, old and young, Mr. Howe and the 
choir. Dr. Parker and the Club, regretted his departure, 
and only wished that he had been born in the delightful 
town of Jotham. For himself, he had no desire to go. He 
felt the movement of the great powers within him, and 
dreamed of his future greatness, but he was bound with an 
intimate and tender bond to the spot where his manhood 
first asserted itself, even in an humble sphere, and he felt 
as if those who had listened to his first utterances and 
-joined him in his first effort were bone of his bone and 
flesh of his flesh. He had begun to feel that he should 
reach a lofty goal, and he knew well that the memory of 
the people of Jotham would go with him, and their pres- 
ence would attend him wherever his path might lead. So 
he bade good by to Mi*. Hopkins and Mr. Howe and Dr. 
Parker and John Thomas, and strolled over to Jim Bell's, 
merely to tell Clara that he wished her a prosperous life, 
and to ask her to give his farewell to the scholars of the 



FERTILIZERS. 



119 



district school. Clara was radiant, and so was he. He 

was schoolmaster no longer ; and the scholar had passed 

into the fascinating region of female companionship. They 

were indeed 

charming as they 

stood there in 

that humble 

home, conscious 

of the golden 

chain that bound 

them together, 

but ignorant of 

the trials which 

were to beset 

their path. The 

schoolmaster had 

but little to -say, 

and Clara had 

less. But when 

he suggested to 

her that he should always be happy to hear from her, and 

that a correspondence between master and pupil might be 

of mutual benefit to both, and she, as if brought suddenly 

to a sense of her obligations, assured him that she should 

write to him as often as Dr. Parker thought proper, he 

realized the trial which lay in wait for him, and watched to 

see her uprising consciousness of the sorrow which always 

springs from a double allegiance to duty and love. To both 

there came in an instant the sudden and blinding revelation, 

and they separated, with an inward consciousness that the 

time would come when the scales would fall from their eyes. 

What it all meant they hardly knew. But they realized 

that some one stood between them, and they had a vague 

dread of what time might unfold to them. And so they 

parted ; and so they grew old and wise in an hour. 




CLARA BELL. 



120 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

When the school was closed and the schoolmaster was 
gone, John Thomas turned at once to the Club for mental 
relief, and, calling on Mr. Howe, arranged with him that 
a meeting should be called at once, and, as the season of 
planting was coming on, they agreed that the topic to be 
discussed should be Fertilizers and Fertilization. Mr, 
Hopkins called the meeting to order, and proceeded to 
discuss the question, — 

FERTILIZERS AND FERTILIZATION. 

I have been careful not to occupy an unreasonable share of 
the time of the Club in the debates which have thus far been 
carried on, and I feel, therefore, that I shall not be stepping 
beyond the bounds of reason, if I take an early opportunity to 
express my views on the subject now before us. I am sure we 
shall all agree that the question of fertilizers and fertilization is 
one of the most intricate and complex, as well as most impor- 
tant, with which we have to deal. Precisely what the soil wants 
it is difficult to tell, even after we have discovered, by the most 
careful chemical analysis, in what elements it is deficient. I am 
satisfied that fertilizers work in two ways : first, by directly feed- 
ing the plant; and secondly, by putting the soil in such condition 
that it can present to the plant, from itself, the food which it 
requires : and I am also satisfied that fertilizers operate both 
mechanically and chemically on the soils into which they are 
introduced. At the head of the list I would place properly com- 
posted and properly decomposed barn-yard manure, acting, as 
it does, as a direct food to the plant, through its soluble salts ; 
as a stimulus to the soil to give forth all its nourishing proper- 
ties, by means of its nitrogeneous qualities; and as a mechanical 
agent, both through the material with which it is composted, 
and through its natural supply of bulky inert matter which it 
mixes with the soil, and thus increases the amount of humus. 
The application of manures in which nitrogen abounds is always 
attended with a great subsequent exhaustion, well known to 



FERTILIZERS. 121 

those of our ancestors who in early times supplied the soil of 
some parts of New England with fish manure, and to those of 
more modern date who have burnt it up by the constant use 
of night-soil. Nitrogen is useful in its way; but in order that it 
may produce, the best effect, it must be combined with more 
substantial and positive plant-food, — something which will en- 
ter into the plant itself. This combination is formed in barn- 
yard manure to the highest degree of perfection. It contains 
a bountiful supply of that element which sets the soil at work, 
and it also provides all those soluble salts, phosphates, nitrates, 
etc., which give food directly to the plant. There is, indeed, no 
doubt tliat the animal excretions, properly prejDared, provide us 
with all the constituents we need for the fertilization of the 
soil. Nature has provided these substances with the nitroge- 
neous compounds and the soluble salts in such form that they 
are peculiarly adapted to the soil in all its varieties ; and with 
proper combinations tliey can be made our best fertilizing 
material. 

I think you will all agree with me that two things are required 
to make this manure thoroughly effectual and valuable, namely, 
proper compostitig and complete deco77iposition. Barn-yard ma- 
nure can be made especially applicable to the soil by a careful 
and accurate choice of the materials with which it is composted. 
For this purpose, nature has supplied us with cheap, bulky sub- 
stances of various descriptions. The straw and refuse hay, used 
as bedding for tlie animals on the farm, are very useful for this 
purpose ; and the chemist will tell you how straw itself, de- 
composed, furnishes certain fertilizing materials acting chiefly 
mechanically, but chemically as well, on the soil. Muck also, 
when properly selected and properly cured, forms a valuable 
foundation for a compost-heap for certain soils. It belongs 
especially to those materials which nature has provided for the 
creation of a compost-heap ; and it can be worked into a mass 
of barn-yard manure in such a way as to increase the fertilizing 
power of the mass of animal excrement, in the same way as 
straw, sand, and loam. In this connection, it is especially val- 
uable as an absorbent. Having no direct fertilizing power of 



122 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

itself, it serves to extend and prepare those substances which 
have. But do not understand me that it is equally applicable 
to every variety of soil. It is not. It is adapted, in the com- 
post-heap, to soils that are light and sandy, have an abundance 
of silica, and have soluble salts already provided, which the 
latent acids in the muck may possibly dissohe. Take a light, 
sandy soil, therefore, and if you have a sufificient supply of 
barn-yard manure which you wish to extend by the use of a 
composting material, you can use muck, with the assurance that 
the acids in the muck, even after it has been sweetened by sun 
and frost, will have a beneficial chemical effect on the soil, by 
aiding to dissolve, the soluble salts which go to nourish the 
plant. So I would use muck on sandy land for the purpose to 
which I have referred, and, if convenient, I would combine with 
the muck a small proportion of clay. But if I were preparing 
my manure for clayey land, I should use sand liberally in my 
compost-heap and for bedding my cattle. I have seen many 
a heavy clay farm so overloaded with muck as to be almost 
worthless. Obedient to an old opinion which made muck a 
universal panacea for all the ills that land is heir to, the occu- 
pants and owners of that farm had literally filled it with this 
substance. For root crops and corn crops and grain crops and 
grass crops muck had been used in connection with barn-yard 
manure for more than half a century. The effect was painful 
enough. The root crops dwindled. The grass crop was so 
imperfect that hardly a field had a firm, compact, continuous 
sod ; but the grass was rooted in tufts and patches, with bare 
intermediate spaces occupying, in the aggregate, a large por- 
tion of the surface. A remedy for this condition of things was 
found in sand. 

The cattle were bedded with sand, so that the green manure 
heaps were half full of it. The compost-heaps were supplied 
with a large proportion of sandy loam, and, in due time, the 
mechanical condition of the soil was materially changed, and 
its chemical condition was so far improved that roots, corn, and 
grass were restored to that vigorous condition known to them 
before the heavy soil of that farm had been chilled and 



FER riLIZERS. I 2 3 

poisoned by an excessive use of muck. Compost, then, with 
muck for sandy lands, and with sand for clay lands. So much 
for composting. 

And now for decomposing. I have not forgotten the old cus- 
tom of hauling green barn-yard manure directly upon the land, 
and applying it in that condition to most of the crops usually 
raised on the farm. For some purposes this is well enough, I 
have no doubt. The best chemists will agree with me that the 
earth is a great and powerful laboratory. The capacity which 
the soil possesses of dissolving and dividing and decomposing 
and absorbing what is put into it for its own purposes, is analo- 
gous to the capacity of the animal system to divide and use the 
food with which it is nourished. Hence I have no doubt that 
there are circumstances under which green barn-yard manure 
can be economically and profitably introduced into some crops. 
This is undoubtedly the case with the corn crop. Indeed, the best 
way to raise corn is to plant it on sod land, recently ploughed, 
with fresh barn-yard manure turned in and a small quantity of 
decomposed manure or some commercial fertilizer put into the 
hill. And the reason is obvious. During the " sixty days of 
hot corn weather," the earth and the heat are doing exactly 
what the farmer does in his compost-heap ; and when the corn 
requires the manure, the earth, the sun, and the heated air are 
busy preparing this plant-food for its use. Experience has 
taught us that this mode of cultivating corn is a good one. 
But experience has also taught us, that for most crops well- 
composted and well-decomposed manure is by far the most 
useful. 

In decomposing our animal manures, we should not forget 
that while the manure is largely diminished by decomposition, 
the fertilizing power of the manure is largely increased ; and 
never until it is decomposed is the manure fit for the food of 
the plant. Some of the most interesting experiments that have 
been made in modern times were made by Professor Voelcker 
and published by the Royal Agricultural Society of England, 
setting forth exactly how much barn-yard manure is increased 
in \ nlue by decomposition. The result of these careful experi- 



124 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

merits was this : that all the soluble salts of manure were 
largely increased by decomposition ; and that barn-yard manure 
that has been carried through the fermenting and heating pro- 
cess, although it has lost in weight, is largely increased in its 
fertilizing power, not only in soluble salts but in nitrogeneous 
compounds. The decomposition of manure, when properly 
composted, is therefore a very important consideration for the 
farmer, and should be conducted in the most economical and 
effective manner, — with muck for sandy lands, because they 
will not heat it sufficiently alone ; with sand for clay lands, 
and with straw for grain crops, and with any component part 
which will increase its nitrogeneous quality, when you pro- 
pose to raise cabbages, mangolds, or any other heavy-feeding 
plants. 

And now, in connection with these views upon the various 
materials with which barn-yard manure may be profitably com- 
posted, let me call your attention to another fact with regard to 
fertilization which we ought not to overlook. The necessity 
for using fertilizers grows out of the fact that soils become ex- 
hausted by long cropping. This exhaustion can be remedied 
not only by applying different soils to each other in connection 
with the compost-heap, but also without combination with ma- 
nures. I believe in mixing soils. If you have sandy land, for 
instance, you can increase its fertility by an admixture of muck 
or clay, or both, and vice versa. That the fertility of an ex- 
hausted soil can be largely enhanced by mixing other soils 
with it, I cannot doubt. There are many tracts of cold, heavy 
clay lands in Eastern Massachusetts, upon which an abundant 
and luxuriant crop of herdsgrass can be raised by a liberal cov- 
ering of sand. And I have known many a sand-hill to be 
brought into luxuriance by a good supply of clay and muck. I 
trust the members of this Club will try experiments in this 
direction. Mix the various soils of the farm, and I am sure 
we shall find a mode of fertilization at once simple, true to 
nature, and fully as effectual as many of the rnore expensive 
and elaborate modes which are constantly brought to our 
attention. 



FER riLIZERS. 1 2 5 

"It is all very well," said Phineas Barnes, when Mr. 
Hopkins had concluded his opening remarks, " for gen- 
tlemen who have large herds of cattle and plenty of 
money to talk about barn-yard manure as the foun- 
dation of all manure. But for one, I think it the most 
expensive material for enriching the soil that can be 
found. It costs a fortune in these days to feed cattle. 
If you buy stable manure it is as dear as gold-dust, 
and it costs another fortune to transport it. And I, 
for one, would like to find a good and reliable sub- 
stitute." 

"That you can't do," said John Thomas. "You may 
find something to use in its place, but there is nothing to 
fill that place. It costs money to manure the land, I 
know ; but we have got to face the music or quit the 
business." 

" What do you say about this. Captain Glass ? " said Mr. 
Hopkins to a fine old specimen of a maritime farmer, who 
had been brought into the Club by the grocer, whose 
cousin he was, and at whose house he was spending a few 
days. 

" Well, I should say that Friend Thomas is right," said 
the Captain. '• I farm near the sea, and we think well of 
compost-heaps, and not much of your snuff-box system of 
manuring. When I quit the sea, I bought a small farm, 
all run out ; cut, the first year, five tons of hay ; raised 
about thirty bushels of corn to the acre. We stood this 
one year, but w^e made up our minds not to be caught the 
next. And so we piled up kelp and manure and muck, 
about as much kelp as anything, for we had plenty of it, 
and we kept piling, all summer. Next year, we had a 
plenty of good well-rotted manure for grass and corn and 
potatoes ; and we have had, every year, since. Now, I get 
thirty tons of hay, every season ; and we, that is, my boys 
and I, get as good a living off" that farm as I ever got 



126 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

at sea, and don't run the risk of being cast away and 
drowned." 

Here William Jones broke in, and said he had a high 
opinion of stable manure, of which he had a large quantity 
to sell. 

" It don't compare with wood ashes," said Sam Smith the 
soap-maker. 

" I think full as well of the sweepings of my hen-house 
as anything else," said John Jackson, the President of the 
Pierce County Poultry Association. 

"Isn't lime about as good as anything.^" said the 
grocer, who happened in at this meeting, and who had a 
large damaged lot of this article which he desired to get 
rid of 

" First-rate with muck, if you want to raise cornstalks, 
and don't expect any corn," said Peter Ilsley, who had 
been a patient listener thus far. 

" What is all this talk about guano and potash and phos- 
phates and so on .'' " asked Mr. Howe. 

And here begun a rambling talk about commercial fer- 
tilizers, so called, in which very hard words were used with 
regard to the manufacturers, and the most profound 
wisdom was manifested with regard to a protective law for 
the farmer, and a police force to carry it out ; a talk which 
might have continued till this time, had not some one 
given a dismal Account of the financial embarrassment 
which had fallen upon the farmers of one or two towns in 
the State, who had invested largely in guano and phos- 
phates, relying on their onion and tobacco crops to help 
them out. This picture was by no means pleasing to the 
progressive members of the Club, who went for onions and 
tobacco, every time, as against corn and potatoes. And so 
one of them moved to adjourn. The motion was carried. 

" Is there any end to fertilizing materials } " said Mr. 
Hopkins, 



FER TILIZERS. 1 2 7 

" Not to receptive nature," replied Mr. Howe. 

" To the willing soul all things are brought," remarked 
Dr. Parker. And then he thought of himself and Clara, 
and that fascinating schoolmaster, and he said, " Good 
night," and went home. 



128 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOT HAM. 



NINTH MEETING. 

FERTILIZERS {Continued). 

THE DRIVE TO THE SEASIDE. — DR. PARKER AND CLARA BELL. — AN 
EXCITING TIME FOLLOWED BY REPOSE. 

1 HE harvest is past, the summer is ended," and tlie 
Club, which had been suspended for months, began, through 
its committee, to show signs of Hfe. The season had been 
refulgent. Never had the hills and valleys of Jotham been 
greener through the hot months, than in this period of 
genial warmth and frequent vitalizing showers. Never had 
the crops been better. Never had the farmers been more 
prosperous. The Rev. Mr. Howe had rejoiced with them 
in the goodness of Providence, whose smiles had been con- 
stant ; and he performed this part of his parochial labor 
with unusual zeal and interest from his official connection 
with the Club, and the knowledge he had obtained through 
its deliberations. He had never been so much a pastor 
to his people as now ; and he found that the closer he stood 
by their sides on the earth, the easier it was to lead them 
on the path to Heaven. John Thomas had kept the varied 
business of his large farm in flourishing condition ; his hay 
crop was ample and well cured ; his corn had yielded well ; 
his potatoes had come almost up to the fabulous crops of 
his ancestors ; his butter and cheese had found a good 
market ; his swine had grown and fattened with unusual 
thrift ; his young cattle had done well in the pastures ; his 
poultry had been busy and prosperous ; his two colts had 
grown into quite sizable horses ; and somehow his general 
system of farming, carried on with good land, good sense, 



FERTILIZERS. 1 29 

and a good purse, had been as remunerative as some of 
the more exact and modernized methods of his neighbors. 
Nobody seemed to know exactly how it was done, but 
they were all aware that John Thomas's farm always looked 
thrifty ; his buildings were well painted ; his walls were 
well laid ; his orchards were clean ; the borders of his fields 
were free from bushes ; his cattle and horses had an air of 
comfort and happiness ; his tools and implements were 
always in good order, and in their places when not in use. 
Peter Ilsley had never driven so lively a business in selling 
milk, and had never tried so diligently to spruce up in his 
buildings and around his yards. William Jones had sold 
one three-year-old Morrill colt for eight hundred dollars, 
and a Mambrino for nine hundred ; and he realized tri- 
umphantly the profits of breeding horses. Phineas Barnes 
had used his hammer and anvil faithfully, and had also 
derived a wonderful income from his little strawberry-beds 
and his vines and pear-trees. To Mr. Hopkins the agri- 
culture of the summer had been a source of great delight. 
His drained lowlands had yielded most abundant grass 
crops. From his old exhausted fields, upon which he had 
applied, with a liberal hand, every kind of manure and 
fertilizer which he thought to be adapted to their wants, 
he had secured crops of barley and corn, and potatoes, and 
turnips, and garden vegetables, which the first ministerial 
Hopkins, on the virgin soil, might have envied. His barn 
was well filled. The newness of his improvements was 
wearing off; and his entire homestead, house, barn, stalls, 
floors, yards, greensward, and paths had become humanized 
by use, and had taken on that domestic and civilized air 
which constitutes the chiefest charm of a well-ordered es- 
tate. He had added a dog-house to. his establishment, and 
he had provided this dog-house with a sedate and dignified 
St. Bernard dog called Bob, — a dog which seldom smiled, 
and had an impressive air of ownership about him. He 
9 



I30 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

had also supplied himself with a substantial pair of bay 
horses, and a well-built carryall, and an open beach-wagon, 
feeling that a barouche or a Brougham was a little too 
much for country life and the outfit of a genuine farmer. 
And so the people of Jotham had all done well, and the 
season had been one which they could look back upon with 
supreme satisfaction. 

The social enjoyments of Jotham, during this summer, 
had not been unusual or remarkable, nor had the disasters 
been great. Fourth of July had been noisily celebrated 
with clanging church-bell, and a few fire-crackers, and a 
musket or two ; but it was all over long before the heat of 
high noon, and ended in a holiday of rest and rational re- 
pose ; while as evening came on, the usual thunder-shower 
of the day rose up with rattling fury, washed the roads, 
drenched the haycocks, and splintered the great elm on the 
common with a flash and a stunning report, which brought 
all Jotham to its feet with a subdued cry of alarm. The 
usual trials of the haying season had fallen upon those 
whose grass was standing as late as the 20th of July, and 
was exposed to the drenching storms which then set in ; a 
lesson which they had been taught each year for a genera- 
tion, and which each year had been forgotten. Here and 
there a root crop had been choked by the weeds, which 
had grown while the men slept, or were too busy to attend 
to them. Not every farm had made successful warfare on 
the caterpillar and the canker-worm ; and through the long 
season the blight of the insect remained to reproach the 
owner. A few cornfields had been damaged by cattle, 
because the farmers would neglect their fences. A bright 
and beautiful boy had been drowned while bathing in the 
lake ; and another had .been killed by the upsetting of an 
ox-cart. But these were the clouds which were apt to pass 
across the sky ; and the people deemed that to be a fortu- 
iiate season in which domestic peace had been preserved, 



FER TILIZERS. 1 3 1 

and no startling manifestation of meanness or wickedness 
had occurred within their borders. 

The people of Jotham had not in the midst of their cares 
and labors omitted the placid pleasures of country summer 
life. Their holidays and leisure hours had been few, but 
their simple out-door and in-door amusements had not been 
forgotten. The cloudy and showery days in the hay Sea- 
son had found the young men fishing in the ponds and 
streams, as the best business they could attend to, until the 
heavens cleared up and the sun returned to his work as 
a hay-maker. To cheerful parties of young women, the 
broad, half-wild, undulating pastures, intersected by innu- 
merable winding cow-paths, and fragrant with sweet-fern 
and bayberry, and furnished with a living interest by the 
straying and browsing cattle, had presented most bounteous 
stores of those small fruits for which New England is 
famous, and whose delicacy of flavor has not yet been sur- 
passed by the crops of the most cunning cultivator. The 
social gatherings of neighbors and friends had been unusu- 
ally delightful ; and the hospitality of the town had been 
freely and cordially extended to a long succession of the 
city friends of Mr. Hopkins, who rejoiced in his country 
home, and began to believe that agriculture was not so bad 
an occupation after all. 

Among the customary annual entertainments of the 
prominent members of Mr. Howe's parish was an excur- 
sion, at the close of the haying season, to some convenient 
seaside resort, for a day's refreshment in the sea and the 
sea air. For years this trip had been taken, and some one 
of the primitive hotels, which then occupied the places 
now filled by the great establishments, looming along the 
northern shores of Massachusetts Bay, was always pre- 
pared for the annual visit from Jotham. The procession 
which left the town was always an interesting one. The 
clergyman with his one-horse chaise, the farmer with his 



132 THE FARM- YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

family wagon, the mechanic with his hght equipage, hired 
for the occasion, the lawyer and the physician, each with 
the vehicle used in his business on the circuit or in his 
practice, all started out in line to represent the active force 
of the place in holiday attire. In the summer just gone, 
this excursion had been arranged and carried out with 
unusual spirit. The animating influence of the Club was 
felt here as it was everywhere, and in all the public enter- 
prises of the place. They who had wrestled with each 
other in hot debate during the winter, and who had been 
at work all summer applying their knowledge to the land, 
with more than common success, were extremely desirous 
of meeting now on a field free from all antagonism and dedi- 
cated to goodfellowship alone. And so Mr. and Mrs. Howe 
agreed to devote one day at least, perhaps more, to the 
enjoyment of the trip ; and Dr. Parker grew interested in 
the matter and asked to be allowed to join ; and John 
Thomas and Huldah spent a week in preparing for the 
holiday ; and William Jones selected his best horse for the 
drive ; and Phineas Barnes agreed to shoe Deacon Joe's 
mare, for the use of her on the journey, for the Deacon never 
joined in such frivolity ; and Peter Ilsley brought out and 
washed the old yellow-wheeled family chaise, which had 
long since retired from active duty ; and the grocer dedi- 
cated his store wagon to the dissipation of the hour. Jim 
Bell could not go ; and he was gratified as well as aston- 
ished when Dr. Parker strolled round to his house and 
casually invited Clara to accompany him, — astonished 
that the Doctor should desire to go, and more than all 
astonished that he should invite Clara to go along with 
him. 

It was a charming morning when the villagers drove out 
of town on their way to the sea. The sun was rising, and 
the air which just fanned the sparkling and dewy grass 
was fresh and invigorating. The drive was delightful, — 



FERTILIZERS. 



133 



not in hot haste, but slow and dignified and moderate, so 
deliberate, in fact, that the most practical farm-horse in 
the party, just from the furrow, had no difficulty in hold- 
ing his own with the best. The halts were frequent, 
partly for a little interchange of ideas and a little mutual 
congratulation, and partly for the purpose of examining 
the well-known groves, and curious rocks, and the re- 
markable trees, which had for years formed the interesting 
landmarks of the drive, and partly also to catch a glimpse 
of some striking bit of landscape, whose beauty had been a 
topic of conversation even with the old and practical for 
many, many summers. It should be remembered that, on 




A SI- \ x'li'W, i;i: \(i[, Ki'C. 



this annual drive, the persons engaged in it gathered 
together a store of pleasant little incidents for fireside 
discussion and agreeable chat, until the occasion came 
round again. And how they rejoiced at the first "up- 
rising of the curtain before the great mystery of the sea," 
as they reached the summit of that familiar commanding 
hill, and found their old friend lying there, still in the 
bright sunlight, sparkling and grand in his boundless 
beauty, and submitting to no limits but the heavens them- 
selves ! The gathering at the little hotel, how cheerful it 



134 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

was ! The stroll up and down the smooth sand beach, 
studded with that same array of shells which had greeted 
them so often, but which was even now as new and fasci- 
nating as ever, had the old charm still, as the rippling surf 
tinkled out its drowsy music, and seemed to lull all things 
to repose. It was entirely in order to discuss the natural 
curiosities which lay about them, and it was pleasant to 
see the inquiring groups, gathered around a bit of wreck, 
half covered with the sand, or a stray bone cast up by the 
tide, which had wrenched it from its bed to expose it to 
the gaze of the curious, or a new bowlder which the float- 
ing ice had tossed high up on the beach smce the last 
excursion, or a new, but perhaps not very important shell, 
which had long since lost its occupant and seemed to be 
waiting now to be provided with a home of its own, as an 
ornament to the dressing-table of some fair one, who in 
her simple life depended on the bounty of nature for her 
outfit. 

In these discussions Dr. Parker made himself useful 
and interesting. He had told Clara the name of every 
flower and tree which they had seen along the road on the 
drive ; and now he discoursed upon the mollusks and sea- 
urchins, upon the shore line and wandering "rocks, upon 
the lessons of animal life taught by the lowest order of 
vitalized creation, and he became the delight of his asso- 
ciates, who wondered what had induced him to come, and 
wondered, also, at the extent of his knowledge, and the 
interesting and liberal way in which he spread it broad- 
cast all around him. It was evident enough that he had 
found a new impulse ; what it was they did not know, nor 
did they suspect, when, after having exhausted the topics 
proposed by the admiring group which surrounded him, 
he allowed them to scatter and then wandered away over 
the long beach with Clara, listening to the voice of the sea, 
stopping to examine every rosy-lipped shell, until they 



FER TILIZERS. 1 3 5 

could hardly be seen in the dim distance. Not even on 
their return were they especially observed ; for the hour of 
dinner had arrived and the excursionists gathered hastily 
into the familiar old dining-room, to enter upon the sub- 
stantial joys of the occasion. Mr. Hopkins, who had 
driven over in his carryall later in the day, not having yet 
learned the delights of sunrise departures, and who had 
reached the seaside while the party was scattered along 
the beach, discovered a strange, tender light in Clara's 
eyes, a softer color in her cheek, a gentle tremor in her 
voice, a dreamy anxiety over her whole countenance, 
which he could not understand nor even attempt to ac- 
count for, until he saw Dr. Parker's eye rest upon her, 
and saw also the nervous and uneasy manner of the 
usually calm Doctor, as he fidgeted about among the 
crowd. However, even Mr. Hopkins had come to the sea- 
side for a day of recreation, and, as he found there " other 
fish to fry," he soon forgot Dr. Parker and Clara, amidst 
the bounties of the dinner, and the busy chat of his neigh- 
bors with regard to the incidents of the morning. 

It was late in the afternoon when the procession was 
formed to return to Jotham. The day was delightful still, 
and all the long hours which had passed since the early 
morning departure had brought no weariness to the cheer- 
ful and busy party. One after another the wagons were 
brought to the door of the hotel, their seats were filled, 
and they were driven away. Mr. Howe had joined the 
procession. Mr. Hopkins, having invited Mrs. Howe to a 
seat in his carryall, as more comfortable for her after the 
long day, had driven on. The last carriage to be brought 
up was Dr. Parker's ; and it was with unusual elasticity 
that he assisted Clara into it, seated himself by her side, 
and turned his steps, as she supposed, homeward. It was 
natural that he should propose a little farewell drive on 
the beach ; and so she rather rejoiced in one more oppor- 



136 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

tunity to listen to the surf, and to look upon that long 
curving line of solid, shining, sea-wet sand, which was now 
filled, to her, with the deepest and tenderest associations, 
and which she felt, half painfully, she knew not why, would 
never be obliterated from her memory. As the sun went 
down the scene was delightful. Everything around her, 
the memory of the day, the beauty of nature, a strange 
misgiving, the consciousness that she was not really return- 
ing home with her companions, a nervous sense of the new 
life into which she was entering, were more than she could 
bear, and a tear hung trembling in her eye, — to be dried 
there at its fountain, she hoped and prayed. Dr. Parker 
was silent ; but Clara noticed that he was unusually active 
with his horse, and that that commonly quiet and well- 
behaved animal seemed to be bewildered by his master, 
and to be growing quite impatient under his uncertain 
guidance and his spasmodic and unreasonable demands. 
She had never seen Dr. Parker whip his horse before. 
She had never known him to drive regardless of danger. 
And she was soon lifted out of her melting mood into a 
stern and positive feeling of anxiety and alarm for her 
personal safety. She suggested at last that perhaps 
they had better leave the beach and take the road to 
Jotham and join, if possible, the returning procession of 
their friends. 

"So I say," said Dr. Parker. "But then, the sea, Clarry, 

is so fine. 

'The sea, the sea, the open sea, 
The blue, the fresh, the ever free' ; 

we may never see the boundless abyss again, in which the 
leviathan plays therein, Clarry ; where go the ships ; the 
sea, ' without a mark, without a bound ' ; ' I 'm on the sea,* 
Clarry, ' I 'm on the sea' ; and so art thee ; this wild waste 
of waters all around us; how solemn! how sublime! What 
does Hopkins know of this .'' Hopkins, the money-changer, 



FERTILIZERS. 1 37 

who should be driven from this holy temple in which we 
have erected our altar, Clarry, and where I for one pro- 
pose to worship until death do us part. What knows the 
minister of the meaning of this broad expanse of waters, 
typical of the mighty tides which flow through the double 
human soul, — two souls in one, I mean, Clarry; two in 
one, — did n't we, Clarry ? " 

" I think we had better get off this beach on to the high- 
road as soon as possible," said Clara. 

"High-road, so do I," said the Doctor. "High enough 
it is, Clarry." 

The horse seemed to be of Clara's mind ; and either be- 
cause he had become accustomed to the accidents in the 
Doctor's life, and knew that his own instinct was his best 
guide under the circumstances, he turned his steps towards 
the path running from the beach, struck into the road 
leading to Jotham, and took a firm and steady gait for 
home, apparently unmindful of the eccentric management 
of his driver, who drove and talked with equal wildness. 
Clara possessed her soul in peace. The day which had 
dawned so brightly was heavy and gloomy enough now. 
Her dream was over. Her profound respect for Dr. Par- 
ker, her admiration of his power, her faith in his, integrity 
and honor, were all gone; and in the midst of the ruin 
and darkness she saw the bright form of Charles Ingalls, 
who seemed to haunt, and reproach, and pity her, until 
she was wellnigh mad. It was a strange conflict for her; 
and the revelation which came out of it all blinded and 
bewildered her, who, until this hour, had not known where 
in a woman's heart respect ends and love begins. The 
evening drive home was dreadful to her. Dr. Parker be- 
came quiet enough at last, — too quiet. The silence was 
worse, if possible, than the noise. And as the horse pur- 
sued his steady course along the road, she pondered and 
pondered upon her sudden trial ; hoped it was a dream ; 



138 THE FARM- YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

believed she could overcome it ; determined to save him 
who had in the first radiant hour fallen so low before her ; 
and resolved to wait for God to solve the mystery, and lift 
the veil, which she could not solve or lift herself The 
silence became at last insupportable. She had learned her 
lesson ; and now she must have relief even if it came 
through that human voice which she had suddenly learned 
to dread, but not yet to despise. The Doctor raised his 
head, and in a subdued and apparently shame-stricken 
voice said to his horse, — 

" Go on, Jim." 

This was enough for Clara. " How charming is the 
night ! " said she. glad to know that he who could speak 
rationally to his horse might, possibly, speak rationally to 
her. 

" It is, indeed," said Dr. Parker ; " are we near home .-* " 

" Yes," said she ; " I see the spire of the meeting-house 
in the moonlight, and we are just at the turn of the road 
leading through the maples into the village." 

" Well," said the Doctor, hardly yet realizing what had 
occurred since leaving the hotel, " the drive has been 
very short, Clara, has it not .-* And I really hope you 
have enjoyed the day, and the walk on the beach, and 
the cheer of our party. But here we are, at your father's 
house." 

He helped her out of the chaise and drove on, to realize, 
when he had reached his own home, what a cruel thing 
he had done, and how wickedly and thoughtlessly he had 
beclouded the life of that young girl. The night was 
horrible to him. 

The kiss of Clara's old mother, who sat in the moonlight 
of the cottage window, waiting and watching for her, was 
indeed a gleam of Heaven ; but it seemed only to intensify 
the gloom in her mind. And as she closed her chamber 
door, she shut out all the joy which belongs to youthful life. 



FERTILIZERS. 1 39 

and found that sad and solemn relief which a determined 
resolve to discharge our duty faithfully, in all the events of 
life, will always bring, — that day of light without heat, at 
which all men shudder. The night to her was calm and 
peaceful. 

The village was filled for weeks with pleasant talk about 
the excursion. Dr. Parker returned to his old exclusive 
ways, no one knew exactly why. Clara Bell became a 
companion of the matrons, a strong and wise woman, sud- 
denly from brilliant girlhood ; and nobody understood that. 
The summer waned. Winter came on. The Club resumed 
its meetings. 

Mr. Howe and John Thomas, as soon as Thanksgiving 
was over, met to renew their work as a committee to or- 
ganize the meetings and provide topics of discussion for 
the Club. Mr. Hopkins had offered his parlors once more 
as a place of meeting ; and notices were issued to the 
members, reminding them that the subject still under dis- 
cussion was Fertilizers and Fertilization. 

The members of the Club assembled with unusual alac- 
rity and promptness. Mr. Hopkins called them to order, 
and, having suggested that the first business was the elec- 
tion of officers for the year ensuing, was quite gratified 
with the action of Peter Ilsley, who rose and moved that 
the present officers be requested to serve another year, and 
supported his motion with remarks which really convinced 
Mr. Hopkins that he was more of a favorite in Jotham 
than any man had a right to expect to be, after two years 
of busy residence there. The motion having been carried 
unanimously, Mr. Hopkins expressed his thanks in a feel- 
ing manner for the compliment bestowed upon him. He 
reminded the Club of the valuable discussions which they 
had carried on the previous season, and expressed the 
opinion that not only intellectually but practically had the 
farmers of the town been benefited by the investigations. 



I40 THE FARM- YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

He had marked the course of his neighbors during the 
summer season which had just closed ; and he felt proud 
to say that the cattle and crops of Jotham gave evidence 
of increasing zeal and intelligence in the farming commu- 
nity. For himself, the season had been one of great agri- 
cultural prosperity, and he found, as time went on, that his 
new occupation in life was becoming more and more dear 
to him, and he sincerely hoped his example would be more 
and more valuable to the community in which his lot had 
been so fortunately cast. He then announced the subject 
once more, and called on any member present to open the 
debate. 

The debate which followed was exceedingly discursive, 
owing to the constant tendency of the members to dwell 
upon their own experience during the summer, and to 
branch oft" into the incidents of their farms. It was voted, 
therefore, that Mr. Howe, the secretary, should condense 
as far as possible the remarks of the members into an 
opening paper for the next meeting, and that in this way 
the minds of the members should be brought into system- 
atic operation for the further business of the session. 

" Have not seen you for months," said Mr. Hopkins to 
Dr. Parker, as they and Mr. Howe lingered before the 
wood-iire, while the rest of the Club departed. 

" No," said the Doctor, a little gloomily ; " I have been 
overrun with business, and have been really too much worn 
out for even neighborly calls." 

" Not since the drive to the beach have I set eyes on 
you except in your chaise," said Mr. Howe. 

"I know," said the Doctor; and added with a sad and 
awkward smile, " that chaise will be the death of me, I 
fear." 

" O no ! I trust not," said Mr. Hopkins. " Sit down, 
Doctor, and take a cigar." 

" I smoke but seldom, now," replied the Doctor. " Pray 



I'ER TILIZERS. 1 4 1 

excuse me. I think I must sec Mrs. Jones to-night, who 
is very ill. So good night." 

" He is odd, is n't he } " said Mr. Howe to Mr. Hopkins, 
as the Doctor vanished, and left these two worthies to watch 
the fading embers and muse themselves into a condition 
fit for sleep. 



142 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 



TENTH MEETING. 

FERTILIZERS (Continued). 

CHARLES INGALLS RETURNS. — HIS DISAPPOINTMENT. — MR. HOWE 
DISCUSSES FERTILIZERS. 

When Charles Ingalls left Jotham at the close of his 
school, he promised the committee that if he found it 
necessary to teach at all during the next season, it should 
be in their service. The promise was not forgotten. The 
impression he left upon the community was so substan- 
tially good, that time only made it better ; and when the 
day approached for the winter term to begin again, Mr. 
Howe was instructed to write at once to the schoolmaster, 
as he was now called, and remind him that the educational 
Monday would soon come round, and he would be expected 
to renew his labors in the old red school-house. To this 
the schoolmaster did not object. The compensation was 
small, it was true, and he might do better elsewhere. But 
elsewhere was not Jotham, — the town where he first tried 
his wings, the village with a Farmers' Club, the home of 
Mr. Hopkins, the birthplace of Clara Bell. He looked 
forward to another winter there with something more than 
delight, — with a feeling of pleasure so keen that toil and 
compensation seemed to be entirely secondary. He re- 
turned, therefore, to his labor at the appointed time ; not 
to the same labor, and the same town, and the same school 
and scholars, which he saw for the first time the year before ; 
but to a well-known and familiar scene, to whose service 
he was now fitted by experience, and to whose locality he 
was now bound by the tenderest associations. He brought 



FER TILIZERS. 1 43 

with him also a maturer mind ; ibr his days in college 
had been devoted to the most diligent study, in which his 
powers had been quickened by a vague sense of the mark 
he might make in life. And when he entered that primi- 
tive school-room to begin again his labors there, he felt as 
if he v/ere only returning home, stronger and wiser than 
ever before, with firmer ties and broader understanding 
and enlarged capacity. The room had not changed ; the 
stove, and the brick floor, and the desk, and Galilee, and 
the mature young men and women, and the little children 
were all there, just as they were on that first anxious and 
trembling morning. As he entered, he gave the scholars 
a general recognition, and proceeded at once to his desk 
and began his labors by calling for the customary reading 
of a chapter in the Bible. Verse after verse was read by 
the pupils, and it seemed to him that the work in which 
he was engaged had only been suspended the day before. 
The voices were all familiar, and all came in the order to 
which he had become accustomed. And without explor- 
ing minutely the well-filled benches, — without exactly 
daring to run his eye along to see if all the old familiar 
faces were present, — he waited for one voice, and waited 
in vain, until the last stumbling and hesitating and vocifer- 
ous reader had finished his verse ; and he learned that the 
voice of Clara Bell was not among them. To say that he 
was disappointed would be to give utterance to what he 
would not say himself. And yet he felt that the zeal 
with which he had travelled over the long road in rough 
weather to Jotham, the readiness with which he had ac- 
cepted another call to teach in that gloomy old school- 
house, the enthusiasm with which he persuaded himself 
that he was actuated by a high sense of his duty to man- 
kind, were all suddenly cooled before the realization that, 
after all, he was not eager to return to his labor, but to 
her. It was amazing how his courage was dashed ; what 



144 THE FARM- YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

a feeling of disgust seized upon him ; what a sense came 
over him that he had sold himself; and with what an in- 
different manner he proceeded to lay out for the scholars 
the work of the term. But then he remembered that he 
was in Jotham, and that in the ordinary routine of life, 
either at the singing-school, or at church, or at her father's 
house, in the regular order of boarding round, he should 
erelong meet Clara ; and he went to work with his usual 
determination, but with less of that elastic zeal than he 
had anticipated, before he discovered what a wretched place 
Eden must have been before Eve was born, and what a 
commonplace affair the world becomes when there is no 
one in it to love. 

The schoolmaster had not, however, forgotten in the 
midst of all his devotion to the school-house and its asso- 
ciations the frequent meetings of the Club at the cheerful 
home of Mr. Hopkins ; and when he was notified that he 
would be expected to take part in the deliberations of the 
coming season, as almost a public duty, he did not hesitate 
to declare that a duty like that belonged to the list of 
the most agreeable pleasures of the town. And he rather 
hoped he might have an opportunity to apply his rhetorical 
powers to some other interesting question before the Club, 
as he did so acceptably to the subject of Cattle. When the 
Club met, therefore, he was present. Dr. Parker was not. 

The meeting was called to order, as usual, by Mr. Hop- 
kins, who took special pains to congratulate the members 
and himself that the schoolmaster was once more among 
them, and who announced that Mr. Howe would, in ac- 
cordance with a vote of the Club, present an opening 
paper on the subject of Fertilizers and Fertilization, — a 
subject which had occupied their attention at the last 
meeting, and which had increased in importance as the 
difficulties of agriculture had multiplied, and the demand 
for agricultural products had expanded. 



FER 1 ILIZERS. 1 4 5 

Mr. Howe modestly drew from his pocket the essay he 
had prepared, and with a sHght ecclesiastical tone read his 
discourse upon 

FERTILIZERS AND FERTILIZATION. 

I have found it very difficult to discharge exactly the duty 
which has been assigned me. During the debue which was 
carried on at the last meetini^ of the Club, a great deal of 
valuable truth was enunciated and a great many facts were 
brought out, which it is impossible for me to recall and arrange 
to your satisfaction. I have been compelled, therefore, to pre- 
sent, in my own way, the views which were imprinted upon my 
mind by tlie debate to which I listened with so much pleasure 
and jDrofit. I was extremely gratified to find that so many of 
our number had interested themselves in experiments upon the 
application of manures. It is i.ot difficult, as I concei\-e, Mr. 
President, to find an abundance of fertilizing material. The 
earth is full of it ; so full that we have only to stretch forth 
our hands and gather it together. The large amount of decay- 
ing animal matter to be found in slaughter-houses, and to be 
secured by accident and disease on the farm, should never be 
lost sight of. Blood, hair, and flesh can be composted in such 
a manner as to produce a most stimulating and valuable ma- 
nure. Bones cannot be overestimated. I have seen so much 
benefit arise from the use of crushed bones, not bone meal, but 
what the English call half-inch bone, combined with an equal 
bulk of barn-yard manure, and sufficient muck to make a com- 
post-heap, that I urge it upon your most careful consider.ition. 
Mr. Barnes spoke highly of it for his pear orchard ; but I can 
from observation speak highly of it as an application to corn, 
turnips, grass land, in fact to any crop which requires strong 
and permanent fertilizing. And I would most earnestly recom- 
mend the use of bones in the way I have described, to every 
farmer who desires to cultivate his farm well. I do not be- 
lieve in bone meal. I have found that the soil did not retain 
it well, and that it did not readily enter upon that heiting pro- 
lo 



146 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

cess which is necessary to render all manure valuable. I have 
thought sometimes that the fine particles of the powder were 
washed away by the rains, and carried down into the earth 
beyond the reach of the atmospheric influences, and were thus 
rendered inoperative to the plant. But however this may be, 
crushed bones, half-inch bones, mixed, heated, composted, and 
used as I have described, are valuable to every cultivator ; and 
I think they are fully as valuable as bones when reduced and 
broken up by the application of nitric acid. Used in the way 
I have suggested, the soil, the barn-yard manure, the muck, and 
the process of fermentation all combine to bring the bones 
into a soluble condition, — or if not to a soluble condition, to a 
condition peculiarly available to the plant. Fisli also I would 
recommend, but always composted. The refuse left after the 
manufacture of fish-oil can be combined with muck and made a 
most valuable fertilizer, especially for the early stimulation of 
crops. It has been well said that fish in composts " should lie 
a year, that their oil may be dissolved and fitted for the nour- 
ishing of plants." 

Straw^ refuse hay, f/iak/i, taimer''s hark, leaves of deciduous 
trees, fermented with other substances, as manures, may be used 
with great benefit on clayey and stiff soils, and generally with 
great advantage in the cultivation of potatoes. 

Wood-ashes are invaluable as a fertilizer, making a good top- 
dressing on all kinds of lands, and being especially acceptable 
to corn when applied on the hill at the second hoeing, and to 
strawberry-vines. Ashes should always be applied on the sur- 
face of the soil. Liebig says : '• A field which produced no 
clover can be made productive for a series of such crops by 
manuring with wood-ashes, which contain the same mineral 
matters as clover • in the Netherlands this manure is of the 
most general application for this purpose ; and in Westphalia 
there is a proverb that '■ he pays double who buys no ashes. ^ It 
is a well-known fact that on strewing wood-ashes on a meadow, 
thousands of clover-plants make their appearance where they 
were not visible before." Buy all the ashes you can get, there- 
fore, if you need more manure than you make from your cattle ; 



FERTILIZERS. 147 

if you cannot get unleachecl, buy leached, and apply to your 
corn, small fruits, orchards, grass lands, root crops, and you 
will meet with your reward. 

E/mc may in certain cases be used as a fertilizer and on cer- 
tain crops. It has been well said by an old writer, that " lime 
acts as a manure by attracting and imbibing the oils and acids 
which are contained in the earth and atmosphere. It not only 
collects these ingredients of vegetable food, but so alters them 
as to fit them to enter the roots of plants. With the acids it 
forms a salt which by mixing with the oils becomes a sapona- 
ceous mucilage, which is the true pabulum for the nourishment 
of the plants. These changes cannot be made in the ingredi- 
ents of which vegetable food is composed without a considera- 
ble degree of fermentation. This fermentation breaks and mel- 
lows the soil, and so increases the pasture cf plants that the 
roots can more freely extend themselves in quest of their 
food. Accordingly it is found that liming renders a soil very 
soft and open. And as lime when it is slaked is a very soft 
substance, I can see no reason to doubt of its containing a very 
considerable quantity of those impalpably small particles of 
earth which enter into plants and become a part of their sub- 
sistence. If so, it must be allowed that lime is to answer the 

intention of manure Lime may have an ill effect when 

it is injudiciously applied, or in too great quantities, or to an 
improper soil. Three cart-loads, or one hundred and twenty 
bushels, are allowed to be a sufficient dressing for an acre 
where it is cheap enough. This dressing enriches cold, stiff, 
clayey soils for many years after. If it force any soils too 
much it can only be those which are weak and sandy. The 
best time for applying lime as a manure is when land is newly 
broken up, or after lying a long time in grass. This may be 
ascribed to the plenty of roots in the soil which the lime soon 
dissolves and changes into food for plants. It may well be 
composted, and if mixed with a large proportion of clay, or 
with mud from the bottom of ponds or rivers, it may be applied 
to sandy and gravelly soils without danger, and to great advan- 
tage." 



148 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

I have seen an old book dedicated more than three-quarters, 
of a century ago to James Bowcioin, in which the writer calls 
attention to coal-ashes as top-dressing for col. I, damp soils ; 
to sea-plants, marl, sand, clay, to mix with the plough or barrow 
in sandy or gravelly soil ; to turf's, shells, scrapings of back- , 
yards for all kinds of soils ; and also to an abundant supply of 
chips, shavings of wood, and sawdust for stiff soils ; and to 
scrapings of streets, and urine and water which flows from 
compost-heaps mixed with muck or loam. 

I have enumerated these articles to show you what a variety 
of materials the farmer can use for fertilization, if he will 
only exercise industry in collecting and judgment in applying 
them. Perhaps our venerable author has been too omnivorous 
in his selection ; but his list is, to say the least, interesting and 
suggestive. 

But I referred to the experiments in fertilization which have 
been made among us during the last season ; and they were so 
interesting to me that I have, as far as possible, made a record 
from memory of some of them. The experiment made by Peter 
Ilsley in top dressing grass lands is worthy of your careful con- 
sideration. Mr. Ilsley said, and he will correct me if I am 
wrong, he had been trying on one lot of land compost of ma- 
nure and muck, on another leached ashes, on another green 
manure, on another wood-ashes, and on a fifth Peruvian guano. 
Each lot of land contained 12,500 feet, and he began his ex- 
periment three years ago. He applied then on the first lot 
two cords of well-rotted manure, mixed with two cart-loads of 
muck ; on the second, 120 bushels of leached wood-ashes ; on 
the third, two cords of green cow-manure ; on the fourth, 
80 bushels of unleached wood-ashes ; and on the fifth, 250 
pounds of Peruvian guano. He weighed his hay, two crops 
for each of the three years ; and the first year he got from the 
compost 1,170 pounds of hay, from the leached ashes 1,120 
pounds, from the green manure 1,600 pounds, from the un- 
leached ashes 1,450 pounds, and from the Peruvian guano 1,670 
pounds. The second year he got from the comport 1,090 
pounds, from the leached ashes 1,400 pounds, from the green 



I-'ER 1 ILIZERS. 1 49 

•cow-manure 1,750 pounds, from the unleached ashes 1,890 
pounds, and from the guano 870 pounds. The third year he 
got from the compost 965 pounds, from the leached ashes 1,190 
pounds, from the green manure 1,350 pounds, from the dry 
wood-ashes 1,230 pounds, and from the guano 550 pounds. 
The land selected'was a field free from shade, with a well-set 
sod three years old. In the three years the green manure 
produced 4,700 pounds, the unleached wood-ashes 4,570 pounds, 
the leached ashes 3,710 pounds, the compost manure 3,225 
pounds, and the guano 3,090 pounds. I consider these experi- 
ments in top dressing very valuable. 

I have secured the minutes of another experiment made by 
John Ray, who meets with us occasionally, and who, as you all 
know, is a careful and successful farmer. His experiment also 
runs over three years, and is intended to test the different modes 
of applying the manure, but not the kind of manure used. The 
land selected was a warm, rather light loam. It consisted of 
one and a half acres, divided into five equal parts. On four of 
the parts compost manure was applied at the rate of twenty 
cart-loads per acre. On the first lot the manure was ploughed in 
eight inches ; on the second lot it was ploughed in four inches ; 
on the third lot it was harrowed in ; on the fourth lot it was 
spread on the surface after planting ; and the fifth lot had no 
manure at all. The field was planted with corn. The first lot 
yielded twelve bushels ; the second lot yielded ten bushels ; 
the third lot yielded nine bushels and twenty-eight quarts ; the 
fourth lot yielded eight and a half bushels ; and the fifth lot 
yielded seven bushels. The second year these lots of land were 
ploughed about eight inches deep, and sown with wheat. The 
first lot, into which the manure was ploughed eight inches, 
yielded nearly five bushels to the lot ; the second lot, into which 
the manure was ploughed four inches, yielded four quarts less 
than the first ; the third lot, into which the manure was har- 
rowed, yielded the same as the second ; the fourth lot, on the 
surface of which the manure was spread, yielded five bushels ; 
and the fifth lot, which had no manure at all, yielded four bush- 
els and two quarts. The third year the land was in grass, 



/so THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

herdsgrass and clover. 7'he first lot yielded 825 pounds, the 
second 694 pounds, the third 643 pounds, the fourth 544 
pounds, and the fifth 487 pounds. These experiments would 
indicate that manure must be applied to the land in different 
ways for different crops. 

Now, I have no doubt much important information can be 
derived from the results at which these gentlemen have arrived ; 
but we must remember that the application of manure to the 
soil is but a small part of the business of preparing land for a 
crop. It must be properly ploughed, properly harrowed, and at 
the right time ; and it must be properly seeded with good seed 
if its full capacity is to be reached. Manure is all-important ; 
but the mode of dealing with the land is important also. 

" What do you say to ploughing in green crops for 
manure .-' " said John Thomas. 

" I have tried it," replied John Ray, who had rather a 
light farm, "and never could make much out of it. In the 
first place, it takes all summer to manure a piece of land 
in this way. If you sow your crop in the fall, even, you 
can't get at it until late in June ; and if you sow it in 
the spring, it is n't fit to turn under till fall ; and I have 
never seen the time in my farming when I could afford to 
wait that length of time, without getting something from 
the land to pay the bills. When you reckon the cost of 
ploughing and manuring for the green crop, and seeding, 
and add this to the delay and the loss of the land for so 
many months, it is evident that this is a pretty expensive 
way of enriching the soil. But more than all this, I have 
seen a piece of light land apparently poisoned by ploughing 
in a crop of green oats. It was done in July for the first 
time ; another crop was sown, and when it was grown 
enough, was ploughed in also. This, as you will see, 
occupied the whole of one season. The next year the land 
was planted to corn, and it did not yield enough to pay 
for the seed. Why this is I do not know. But I have 



. FERTILIZERS. 15 1 

noticed that ploughing in a mass of clover stubble, which 
had been browsed and trampled on by the cattle, and 
which had reached some degree of maturity, will almost 
always benefit the land for the next season. I have no 
doubt that the acids contained in crude, immature vege- 
table matter are injurious to the soil, and contain no 
soluble salts which can in any way benefit the land. At 
any rate, I can't make anything out of ploughing in green 
crops in this part of the country, and I have never known 
anybody who could." 

" I have heard a good deal said lately about artificial 
fertilizers. Can anybody here tell us about them.?" said 
the Schoolmaster. 

"Well," said Mr. Hopkins, no one else seeming disposed 
to speak, " I suppose, as near as I can ascertain, they 
ought to be called stimulants rather than fertilizers. I 
undertook last summer to find out how far I could rely 
upon them in renewing some of my old worn-out fields ; 
and I was satisfied that they could not take the place of 
more bulky manures, which in themselves contain not only 
the humus which the soil requires, but all the chemical 
constituents which can be found in half a dozen artificial 
fertilizers combined. I learned a great deal about the 
value of guano, and the effect it had on the worn-out 
tobacco- lands of Virginia, and the cotton-lands of the Gulf 
States. But I also learned that its effect is but temporary, 
and that it did not supply the soil with those ingredients 
which had been taken from it by long cropping. And so 
of what they call superphosphates. They served in my 
trials, for I did use some of the most reliable, simply to 
stimulate for a time, and then the work was all over. And 
I found that in one good shovelful of manure I had all 
the ammonia of guano and all the nitrogen of oil and all 
the soluble salts of phosphates ; so I determined not to 
rely upon the artificial fertilizers with the expectation that 



153 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOT HAM. 

I was to be carried by them through the season. I tried, 
moreover, an analysis of some of my soil, having been told 
that a skilful chemist could not only ascertain in what the 
soil is deficient, on account of the demands made by cer- 
tain crops, but could also tell exactly how to supply that 
deficiency in exact proportion. But I found it would not 
work. The soil seemed to require something more than 
merely a condensed form of some salt, of which it had 
been deprived, — and that something I called humus, — 
the inert matter of manure, which contains all the stimu- 
lating elements required by plants, and also the soil itself 
in which they are to take root. In my travels last sum- 
mer I came upon a section of the State in which, for 
the sake of cultivating certain crops of a speculative value, 
the farmers had expended large sums of money in these 
commercial fertilizers. They had paid the highest market 
prices for guano and phosphates and fish pumice ; and 
the result was that their farms were becoming impover- 
ished and their crops would hardly suffice to pay for the 
expensive fertilizers applied to them. The agricultural 
experiment was a most disastrous one." 

" Now, Mr. Hopkins," said William Jones, who was a 
constant reader of all the periodical literature of farming, 
*' how is it that the English farmer can afford to ransack 
every remote island, and dig into every mine for fertilizing 
material, like guano and 'potash, if they are so thin and 
fleeting .-' An English farmer generally knows what he is 
about." 

" So he does," replied Mr. Hopkins ; " but he does not 
import these materials for application unaided to his land. 
He uses them to combine with more bulky and less active 
materials, in order to bring his plants forward with the 
more rapidity. Seldom does he use guano or potash salts 
alone. He resorts to straw, woody stems, leaves, weeds, 
beanstalks, all vegetable refuse which is prepared by fer- 



FER TILIZERS. I 5 3 

mentation in one way or another for application to the 
land ; he uses oil-cake, the residuum of the starch-factory 
and the glue-factory, scraps, and the refuse of skin, hair, 
horn, and tendons, the refuse of the tallow-mclter, shell- 
mud from the sea-shore, and all animal excrements, and 
these he combines with each other, or makes them a basis 
for some of the imported fertilizers, to which I have al- 
luded. Fertilization in England is almost as economically 
carried on as it is in Japan, and almost as thoroughly. 
And the English farmer exercises all his ingenuity to avoid 
the loss of any refuse material which, being returned to 
the soil, may bring forth a reward many fold in form of a 
profitable crop." 

" And so an English merchant undertook to carry on a 
farm by steam, and filled the soil with iron pipes to con- 
vey liquid manure, and pumped the precious liquor over 
his acres with a steam-engine, and built great tanks to re- 
ceive every form of decaying matter which could be dis- 
solved and distributed. Did all this pay, too .^ " said the 
Schoolmaster, who had evidently been reading Mr. Mechi's 
book in addition to the regular college course, and had 
learned more of the farm at Tiptree than he had of his 
father's in New Hampshire. 

" I doubt about that," replied Mr. Hopkins, who had al- 
ways had the fear of Mr. Mcchi before his eyes. " If such 
work can be carried on profitably in England, it is because 
labor is so cheap there that, as compared with America, it 
hardly enters into the account. Such an overwrought, arti- 
ficial process may succeed for a time, but it must come to 
an end. Not one man in a thousand could conduct it even 
for one day. And when Mr. Mechi pauses, I think no 
man can take up and carry on his work. I don't believe 
it pays him, and, if it does, it certainly will pay nobody 
else." 

By this time Mr. Hopkins and the Schoolmaster had got 



154 I^HE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

a little beyond their own depth, for they began to talk about 
Liebig and Boussingault ; and the Schoolmaster, fresh from 
the laboratory at Dartmouth, was floundering about in car- 
bonic acid and chlorine, and oxide of iron, and oxide of 
manganese, and alumina, until the two learned gentlemen 
had got very far beyond the depth of the Club, and had 
silenced everybody in the room but themselves. 

Captain Glass, who was again a visitor in the town, and 
had been invited to be present, now broke in and brought 
matters back to their comprehensive level. " Yes," said 
he, " knowledge is a good thing ; it is a great thing ; it 's 
like baked halibut, — the more you eat the more you 
want." Nobody could deny this, and so the Club ad- 
journed. 



DRAINAGE. 155 



ELEVENTH MEETING. 

DRAINAGE. 

PRESIDENT HOPKINS SPEAKS, AND TELLS HOW HE DRAINED HIS 

LAND. 

1 HE manner in which fertilizers and fertilization had 
been discussed at the last two meetings of the Club had 
brought the members to the conclusion that skill in the 
combination and application of the materials which abound 
on every hand is more important in the business of sup- 
plying an impoverished soil with food, and of preserving a 
good one, than an extravagant, indiscriminate, and costly 
use of many of the artificial fertilizers, which require more 
money than wit in those who use them. It appeared to 
be universallv conceded that, with a fair supply of barn- 
yard manure as a basis, most valuable composts might be 
made of this material, combined with muck or loam, and 
strengthened and extended with such condensed fertilizers 
as guano, fish, and bones in their original condition, secured 
before their cost has been increased and their value di- 
minished by chemical combinations. The mixing of soils, 
too, for the purpose of rousing the latent qualities and 
creating new ones, was very favorably received. And it 
was determined, therefore, that the investigation had gone 
far enough for all practical purposes ; and that further ex- 
planations belonged to the scientific explorer, who might 
pursue his experiments with the hope of arriving at some 
valuable fact and some new and useful law. The vital 
force of the soil, moreover, was not forgotten, — that force 
which sometimes fails when the chemical constituents 



156 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

remain, and the absence of which presents a problem to 
the explorer which the tests and analyses of his laboratory 
cannot solve. 

The day after the adjournment Mr. Howe and John 
Thomas met, as usual, to prepare for the next meeting. 
They realized fully the opinions entertained by the Club 
on the subject last under discussion, and they determined 
to let well enough alone, and take one more step in the 
long road of investigation upon which they had entered. 

" I suggested the question of Fertilizers," said Mr. Howe, 
"as a proper subject to follow that of Cattle, because the 
two are so intimately connected, and to a certain extent 
the object of one is to supply the other. But I think we 
really ought to have considered the preparation of the soil 
for the reception of manures before considering the manures 
themselves. No doubt a great deal of labor and money is 
wasted on land which is unfit to bear a crop. The land 
may be too dry, and it may be too wet. When it is too 
dry, it had better be abandoned, except for crops requiring 
a hot, quick soil. When it is too wet, it should be thor- 
oughly and properly drained ; for I consider stagnant water 
in the soil or subsoil as poisonous to vegetable life as it is 
to animal life ; and I should as soon think of finding a 
healthy community occupying a saturated miasmatic dis- 
trict, as of finding a vigorous vegetable growth in soil resting 
upon cold, stagnant pools. I do not agree with some theo- 
rists, that all soils should be drained ; nor do I agree with 
others, that soils which require drainage are the most valu- 
able soils we have, when the water is once out of them. 
But many fields are so located that it is especially impor- 
tant to make them a productive portion of the farm ; it is 
often very necessary that the farmer should reclaim lands 
lying near his homestead in order to avoid the expensive 
necessity of cultivating lands far removed from home. I 
think we had better announce Drainage as our next \o\>\z 
of discussion." 



DRAINAGE. 157 

" I agree with you," replied Thomas ; " but there are so 
many wild and extravagant notions with regard to reclaim- 
ing low meadows, and tapping the springs on the hillsides, 
and underdraining light loams, that I am half afraid of a 
wild and bitter wrangle over the subject ; and Heaven 
deliver me from another fodder-corn fight." 

" But let it be Drainage," said Mr. Howe ; " and let us 
call on Mr. Hopkins to give us an account of the work 
he has already done in this direction. He has relaid old 
stone drains, and cleared out ditches, and planted tiles 
enough in his clay-fields, since he came into this t6wn, to 
ruin an ordinary farmer. Perhaps he can tell us his ex- 
perience." 

And so they selected, as the next' topic, Drainage, and 
Mr. Hopkins agreed to tell what he knew about it. 

The Club assembled as usual, was called to order, the 
record of the last meeting was read, and the assembly set- 
tled down to listen to the statement of Mr. Hopkins, who 
spoke substantially as follows: — 

DRAINAGE. 

Gentlemen of the Clue : — When I began the work of 
restoring this farm, to which I am so strongly attached, I 
realized, as the first step, the need of bringing the land immedi- 
ately about my building into good condition for cultivation. I 
remembered how in my youth my father was compelled to select 
with great care the localities for his various crops, and how he 
was obliged to avoid for one crop the sandy knoll in the rear of 
the house, and for another crop the wet and springv meadow in 
front. I had seen grass crops killed in one place by drought, 
and drowned in another when the season happened to be wet. 
And feeling that my most profitable lands would be those lying 
nearest home, I. determined to bring them into good condition as 
soon as possible. I had read much on the subject of Drainage, 
a good deal of which commended itself to my judgment, and a 



15^ THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

good deal which did not. I was by no means disposed to 
accept the wholesale declaration so often made, that all land is 
too full of water and should be drained ; and when I studied 
the elaborate accounts of the universal application of thorough 
drainage in England and Scotland, and saw the system recom- 
mended to us as of equal value in this country, I could not 
avoid observing the difference between the soil and climate of 
the United States and Great Britain ; and I had strong doubts 
whether in a somewhat porous soil, and under a bright and 
burning sky, it was as necessary to incur the expense of drainage, 
as under the almost constant rainfall of the British Islands, and 
on their heavy clay soils. I recalled also the vast amount of 
time, labor, and money spent by one of my ancestoi'S in at- 
tempting to reclaim that broad, boggy meadow lying near the 
outlet of Alder Brook towards the pond • and I made up my 
mind that I had better attend to my uplands rather than devote 
myself to removing the water from a bed of muck, whose ten- 
dency had always been to return to the wet and soggy condition 
natural to such localities, and to the wild grasses which grow 
there. It had been redeemed once in my day, and had re- 
turned to its original barbarism, and I concluded that I would 
not try that experiment again. I had also seen the same ex- 
periment fail elsewhere, and had learned in various ways that 
bog meadows make but poor farming land, at best. And then 
the great field of thirty acres lying near the source of Alder 
Brook, drained with stone drains, forty years ago, was, I no- 
ticed, in as bad a condition as ever, and the drains could be 
traced throughout its broad surface by the water-grasses which 
grew all along their courses. So I became suspicious of stone 
drains in lands like that. But I had before me this broad level 
field, lying west of my house, a great bed of clay, usually un- 
manageable in spring, and unfit for the best farm crops. But 
it was near at hand, and promised to be most excellent land 
when thoroughly drained. 

This land is, as you all know, nearly level, and in addition 
to the water falling upon it in form of rain and snow, it receives 
the drainage of a considerable extent of hillside and slope by 



DRAINAGE. 159 

which it is surrounded. The subsoil is a stiff, tenacious clay, 
without any strata of sand or gravel. The soil above this is a 
rich dark loam, from one foot to eighteen inches in depth. 
The field had been thoroughly and carefully cultivated in time 
past by some of the best farmers in this town. It was always 
a difficult piece of land to till, owing to the surface water, and 
to its hardness in a dry season and its coldness in a wet one. 
Some form of drainage had always been found necessary for 
its cultivation ; and through its entire length ran a deep and 
wide open ditch, on each side of which the land was laid out 
in beds about forty feet wide, raised in the middle as high as 
the plough could raise it, and divided by deep dead furrows. 

This land I determined to drain with tiles, knowing it to be 
analogous to lands thus treated in the old country. The crop 
of my first year had been about a ton of hay to the acre, of a 
very poor quality. The land was filled with water-grasses 
and various aquatic weeds, and during the season to which I 
allude it was seldom free from stagnant surface water, collected 
in the hollows and dead furrows. In many portions of the 
field the cultivated grasses were entirely destroyed. 

After the hay crop of that season was removed I ploughed 
the field, for the purpose of manuring and seeding again to 
grass, but I found at once that such an operation would be 
utterly useless. The soil of a large portion was cold, stiff, and 
clammy, and in spite of the high manuring to which it had 
been subjected, it had still that slaty color which distinguishes 
a water-soaked earth from the rich brown of w-ell-tilled and 
well-drained loam. It was evident that my manure and labor 
would be wasted, even in my attempt to raise a grass crop, 
exactly as manure and labor had [ireviously been wasted there 
in the cultivation of corn and roots, on account of the disas- 
trous effects of the water. I therefore abandoned my original 
plan ; and as the field lies very near my barn-yard, in a con- 
venient proximity to my manure-heap, and at such a distance 
from my farmhouse that no time would be lost by the laborers 
in going to and from it, I concluded to devote it to constant 
cultivation ; for I have always found that a farmer cannot 



l6o THE FARM- YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

afford to transport manure to the distant fields of his farm, 
while his grass lands lie at his threshold ; neither can he afford 
to employ his laborers in long journeys from their meals to 
their labor. 

The operation of draining the field began in December. The 
open ditch was first cleared to a depth, at the head, of three 
feet, and sinking five feet eight inches at the outlet. In no 
place was the fill less than three inches in one hundred feet. 
Having thus prepared the ditch for the laying of the main drain, 
I directed side drains to be dug running at right angles with 
the main, beginning at a depth of two and one half feet and 
running to the depth required at the junction with the main. 
The side drains were about thirty feet from each other. 

When the ditches were laid open throughout the field, I began 
at the upper portion to lay the tiles, taking care to keep the 
laying of the laterals and the main uniformly finished, as I ad- 
vanced in the work. The main drain consists of two rows of 
four-inch tile laid contiguously. The laterals consist of two-inch 
tiles. I used mostly sole-tiles, and the drains were filled as fast 
as the tiles were laid. The joints of the tiles -were snugly cov- 
ered with wisps of meadow hay, laid compactly over them, and 
the earth was packed as closely as possible nround the tile 
throughout its entire length. 

And now, having described the process, I desire to giv^e the 
result. This field, which had long been almost incapable of 
cultivation, which was alwa3's flooded in the spring, and p:u-ched 
in dry, hot seasons, which was disfigured by an open ditch and 
by ridges and dead furrows, which had been for half a cen- 
tury a reproach to the adopted system of farming, began at 
once to improve in condition and appearance. Even during 
the winter in which the drainage was completed the water was 
carried off from it in a way never known before ; and although 
it was by no means brought into perfect condition, still the 
ploughing the next spring and the cultivation during the next 
season were very materially improved over previous years. 
And, as you are well aware, my crops of corn and mangolds on 
that field were the admiration of you all durinj the last season. 



DRAINAGE. l6l 

Since I began this business of thorough drainage I have 
often been asked whether it is profitable. This depends very 
much on the location and quality of the land. Upon the loca- 
tion : the field which I have described to you lies, as I have 
said, in one of the most convenient localities of my farm, and is 
almost indispensable to an economical productio'n of the crops 
I need. I have other land lying near, but it is so occupied, or so 
broken by hills, that cultivation is either difficult or impossible. 
Here was a field, unoccupied, at my very door, almost useless, 
unfit for grain or roots, and unable to bear grass of a good 
quality and large quantity, for even a short series of years. It 
is a bed of clay, upholding a quality of soil which only required 
warmth and dryness to become highly fertile. Science and the 
experience of others taught me that such a subsoil, once disin- 
tegrated, would become of the highest value for tillage, that 
droughts would not parch the crops, and that, in its bed, the 
growing plants would find an abundance of nourishment. The 
superficial cultivation which it had received had produced no 
permanent benefit. The manure of fifty seasons had increased 
the depth of the soil, but had not served to warm it. There it 
lay in that solid basin of clay, inoperative, lifeless, and contin- 
ually borne away by the streams which ran along the dead fur- 
rows and down the great open canal, into the highway, for 
the benefit of no man. I found that the expense of ploughing 
such land was too great. The open ditch was an obstacle, and 
the beds were troublesome. The process of ploughing was slow^ 
and heavy, and the result was often attended with great un- 
certainty. A good farmer, who had once cultivated the field, 
said to me : " If I ploughed that field too early in the spring, I 
lost my crop ; if I ploughed it too late, I could do nothing 
with it." 

Now, without entering into a precise calculation of the return 
I have received for my investment in draining, it is very easy to 
see that the crop of the present year alone, increased as it has 
been by the draining, would go far towards my remuneration. 
I have now a good field, whereas I formerly had a poor one. 
And it is hardly necessary to demonstrate to any farmer, that 



1 62 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

any reasonable expenditure for such a purpose and with such 
a result is not an extravagant or unprofitable outlay. 

I would not be understood as saying that an indiscriminate 
application of thorough drainage to all soils is to be recom- 
mended. There are soils which do not require drainage. 
Heavy clay soils are a bane to the farmer without it, — a bless- 
ing with it. There is a large quantity of what is called cold, 
springy land, — land in which the water percolating from the 
hillsides is caught and held, and in which the springs thus fed 




TOOLS FOR DRAINAGE. 



are constantly seeking an outlet on the surface, for the want of 
any other mode of escape, — which would be made highly valua- 
ble by thorough drainage. I know many acres in this town, 
composed of a thin layer of loam and humus, upon a shallow bed 
of clay, beneath which is found a deep stratum of gravel. The 
clay is so tenacious that a great portion of the surface water 
never penetrates into the gravel filter beneath, but lies stagnant 



DRAINAGE. 



163 



on the level places and flows down the slopes so that the valleys 
are constantly inundated. They yield but little, and they need 
only thorough drainage to become warm and fertile. Swamp 
lands require a dilterent mode of drainage ; and although some 
may differ from me, I doubt if thorough drainage is applicable to 
such land. A swamp is usually composed of a collection of de- 
cayed vegetable matter, of greater or less depth, occupying what 
may once have been the bed of a lake or pond. Through it or 
from it usually Hows a stream, a. id the land itself may almost be 
said to be afloat. The subsoil is very often below the reach of 
any ditching. The 
level of the water may 
be governed by the 
outlet. In its natural 
condition, the water 
is usually almost as 
high as the level of 
the land. This level 
of the water may be 
reduced in propor- 
tion to the fall which 
can be provided at 
the outlet by digging, 
— seldom more than 
two or three feet be- 
low the surface of the 
soil. If, therefore, by 

a proper arrangement of open ditches and a sufficient outlet, the 
water is caught as it flows from the hillsides and is conducted 
away from the swamp, you will have just as many feet in depth 
of a porous, peaty soil as you have reduced the level of the 
water ; no more, perhaps less, on account of the settling of the 
swamp as the water is drawn off. This soil, composing islands, 
so to speak, between the open ditches in which the water stands, 
never loses its porosity ; and it usually requires some application 
of gravel or sand or loam upon its surface, to bring it into con- 
dition for cultivation. It has no surface water, and it has no 




DRAIN-TILE. 



1 64 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

subsoil that has been reached. It is in reahty agricuhure afloat, 
a;xl it must remain afloat so long as the reservoir of water beneath 
it is supplied and not emptied. I do not think tiles or blind 
drains in any form are applicable to such land ; for 1 consider 
a firm subsoil as almost indispensable to the proper use of tiles, 
nut only on account of the solid basis upon which they ought 
to lie, but on account of their capacity for discharging water. 
I have found many a stone drain sunk in the swamps on my 
farm, carrying down many a dollar with them. If such spots 
are to be drained at all, let it be done as the Venetians drained 
the lagunes upon which they built their city, — by canals and 
not by sewers. 

I am frequently told that the purchase of tiles is an un- 
necessary expense, inasmuch as nature has provided most of 
our farmers with materials for draining close at hand, in the 
stones of their fields, and that they can be made to answer the 
purpose of tiles themselves. I am aware that it is a good plan 
to bury the stones which interfere with cultivation. But I 
doubt the economy of endeavoring to convert them into drains, 
except for the purpose of constructing a large free water-pas 
sage, tapping a copious spring, or furnishing a culvert for a 
rapid stream. I should never expect to thorough-drain with 
stones ; and I should consider it a misfortune to find enough 
in my land to tempt me to use them. Stone drains cannot be 
constructed as economically as tile drains. They require vastly 
more digging, and thev are bulky and heavy to transport. 
They cannot be laid so as to prevent the particles of earth from 
entering their crevices ; and their walls offer retreats for moles 
and mice too comfortable to be neglected. Owing to their 
liability to be obstructed, they are not permanent ; and, ex- 
cept as conductors for rapid streams, I doubt if they are ever 
effectual. In the fields which I have described there are 
7,562 feet of drains. The work required six men sixteen work- 
ing-days. Let any one compute how long a time it would have 
taken to haul stones enough for these drains, even had they 
lain immediately about the field, and he will be able then to 
judge of the comparative economy of the two systems. And 



DRAINAGE. 1 6 J 

considering tiie character of tlie soil and the level of the field, I 
have no doubt that stone drains would have, ere this, been 
inoperative. I doubt if clay-beds can be drained by any such 
method. I have in my mind a beautiful meadow, which was 
drained, nearly thirty years ago, with stone drains, and brought 
for a time into fine grass land, but which is now rapidly return- 
ing to its original aquatic vegetation. The drains are evidently 
obstructed. 'J'he work is evidently a failure. And why .' 

In answering this question I am brought to the consideration 
of a point frequently brought forward in all discussions upon 
thorough drainage with tiles. Place a tile in the hands of any 
man, or show him a tile drain laid and ready for covering, and 
he will almost invariably ask you how the water enters the pipe. 
\\'e are told that five hundred times as much water enters a 
drain at the crevices or joints as through the pores of the tile. 
This may be so. But one thing should be remembered, — that 
no crevice should be large enough to admit particles of earth 
with the water, if the water-passage is to be kept free from 
obstruction. l"he great advantage of tiles over stones is that 
they strain the water out of the soil without admitting any 
earthy particles along with it, — an operation impossible in 
a stone drain ; and unless the crevices or joints are close 
enough to perform this duty the drain must be a failure. 
Now, take any number of feet of two-inch pipe properly 
laid, with the joints carefully adjusted, and the space occu- 
pied by the crevices is very small in comparison with the cubic 
inches of the bore. Yet from this pipe will be discharged 
at times a stream of its full capacity. Would not crevices 
large enough to admit this volume of water endanger the 
drain ? I have no doubt that tiles act as strainers all along 
their course. The insinuating power of water in the soil is well 
known. It pursues its course in obedience to the laws of gravi- 
tation with a persistency almost unequalled. The drop that 
falls upon a hillside begins at once a journey to its level, and 
nothing can stop it. No soil is so hard that the hidden vein 
may not be discovered, windini; its way through it on its mvs- 
f.erious errand. It seeks the current that is to be .r it on in the 



1 66 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

great circuit of the waters. The porous pipe which you lay in 
the earth becomes at once a channel towards which the sur- 
rounding waters tend. The pressure is on every side. The 
law which propelled that drop towards myriads of capillary 
tubes, with an irresistible force, enables it to enter through the 
minutest passage into this artiticial pathway, distilled, perhaps, 
but nevertheless driven there, as the fluids circulate through 
every living thing, animal or vegetable, not by visible tubes 
alone, but by channels which the microscope can hardly trace 
or discover. May not the very philosophy of tile-draining with 
its strange success consist in this : that on every square inch 
of its surface are multitudes of orilices draining the water awiy 
from the adjacent soil and acting as outlets for the porous 
earth as the water is distilled away from it ? Else how is a tile 
drain so much more effectual than any other drain ever in- 
vented ? Crevices and joints do not account for this. 

And now a few words with regard to the distance at which 
the side drains leading into the main should be laid from each 
other. It is impossible to fix any definite rule for this. But 
in land like my own where the clay is very stiff, and the accu- 
mulation of surface water very great, I think twenty-five feet 
would be a fair and economical rule to adopt. Thirty-five 
feet is the rule elsewhere. But as the rains in our country are 
very copious, and the work of relieving the soil of water is very 
great, our drains should undoubtedly be more frequent than in 
a climate where rains are more after the order of a drizzle. 

Next in order after the distance to be adopted between the 
drains comes the depth at which they should be laid. It is 
evidently indispensable that they should be laid b-^'low the 
reach of frost. Beyond this, opinions differ materially. It is 
now generally conceded, however, that deep drains work the 
best, discharge the most water, and most quickly and thoroughly 
drain the land in winter and spring. I think in this climate 
they should be laid at least three feet deep, and that when they 
are laid over five feet they lose a portion of their efiiciency. 

I trust that you will not forget that thorough drainage does 
not belong to pioneer farming. It is no part of the work of 



DRAINAGE. 1 67 

clearing the forests and expelling the wild beasts. Neither 
does it belong to what is called fancy farming alone. Every- 
man in the region of this town and county, who c.n afford to 
keep his farm through care and industry and thrift, can just as 
well afford to drain a portion of it as he can afford to fence and 
manure it. If he can afford to do the one, he can afford to do 
the other. If he applies his industry to one, he can better 
apply it to the other. For he may build the most substantial 
walls around fields loaded with manure, and yet find himself 
enclosing nothing but " vexation of spirit " and a reproach to 
all his labor, because he has failed to lay the foundation of his 
agriculture on a well-drained soil. Every mechanic who owns 
his cottage and a few adjoining acres will do well to begin at 
the bottom of his soil if he hopes to reap the reward of the 
farming which he snatches from the bench and the workshop. 

I have dwelt long on the subject of drainage, because it is 
really the fundamental business of agriculture, w^herever special 
farming is accurately and profitably pursued. And I shall feel 
that I have done my duty faithfully and effectually, if I have 
laid down any rules or related any experience which will guide 
you in this important and intricate work. 

The discourse of Mr. Hopkins, long and elaborate beyond 
the usual patience of the Club, was listened to with pro- 
found interest by a large majority of the members. Here 
and there one manifested a desire to enlarge upon the 
merits of stone drains and the value of reclaimed bogs. 
But the general feeling" was against him ; and Mr. Hop- 
kins found himself the undisputed master of the situation, 
at this time at least. 

Dr. Parker and the Schoolmaster had listened attentively, 
— but evidently unconscious at times of the course of the 
argument. They knew enough, however, to go home when 
the Club adjourned, and not to linger together before Mr. 
Hopkins's glowing fire. And so the discussion of Drainage 
ended. 



1 68 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 



TWELFTH MEETING. 

THE HAY CROP. 

THE TRIALS OF THE SCHOOLMASTER AND CLARA BELL. — IMAGI- 
NARY TRIALS THE MOST DIFFICULT TO OVERCOME. - MR. HOPKINS 
DELIVERS A LECTURE ON THE HAY CROP. 

1 HE Schoolmaster could stand it no longer. He had now 
reached the third week of his school, and he had never 
known three such weeks of dull, heavy, unalleviated toil. 
Jotham seemed to have changed in a twelvemonth from a 
cheerful, lively, sunny village to as gloomy and uninterest- 
ing a spot as could well be conceived of Not that the 
various amusements and entertainments of the town had 
ceased, but that an impenetrable cloud seemed to hang 
over the whole scene, business and pleasure, church and 
school-house, club and post- office alike. John Thomas 
and Huldah had the same pleasant fireside, and there the 
Schoolmaster was always vvelcome. Mr. and Mrs. Howe 
were as bright and hospitable as ever, and managed, even 
on the small income of a country pastor in a small village, 
to get possession of every last new book of importance, 
and to learn the last bright thought, wafted to their recep- 
tive home as it were on the wings of the wind. Peter 
Ilsley had abated none of his sharp, genuine, somewhat 
rough wit and good sense ; and sitting in his warm and 
ample kitchen, the Schoolmaster always felt as if he were 
moving among the familiar scenes of his own rural home. 
The sparks flew as brightly as ever from Phineas Barnes's 
forge, and Charles Ingalls found the same vigorous discus- 
sion going on in the old shop, that he had listened to with 



THE HAY CROP. 1 69 

SO much pleasure the previous whiter. William Jones's 
horses were as proud and powerful as ever, and Charles 
rejoiced always when the rosy-cheeked and rich-voiced 
Jehu of Jotham took him into his sleigh, to whirl him over 
the snowy road to the school-house. Mr. Hopkins v/as 
unusually genial. The atmosphere of his native town had 
given him an air of renewed youth ; and it really seemed 
as if he were ten years younger and twenty years more 
elastic and vigorous than he was when he left the cares 
of the city. Jim Bell was always at his mill, cheery and 
whistling, and chatty and dusty, ever ready to receive a 
visitor, and contented to listen hour after hour to the 
rumbling of his water-wheel and the grinding of his mill- 
stones. But Charles imagined he saw an air of mystery in 
the countenances of all these old friends ; and because they 
did not allude, innocently enough, no doubt, to the subject 
nearest his heart, he worked himself into the belief that 
they were all combined against him, and were cruelly de- 
termined to blast the sweetest hopes of his life. Never 
were innocent people more thoroughly misunderstood. 
They knew no more about the deep workings of the School- 
master's heart than they did of the mysteries of Eleusis. of 
which they had not even heard. And they began at last 
to wonder what shadow had fallen upon their once un- 
clouded teacher, and what uneasy demon had taken posses- 
sion of him, once so elastic and agreeable and enlivening. 
Casually, and without any thought, the grocer called the 
attention of Dr. Parker to Charles's dreamy air, as they 
were about discussing a glass of gin together in the re- 
motest corner of the back office, — the Doctor and the 
grocer ; and Dr. Parker suddenly set down his gin un- 
tasted, remarking, as he left the secluded spot, that " the 
Schoolmaster had an unbounded ambition, — enough for 
a dozen governors and half a dozen senators." Susan 
Grimes, a spinster of fifty, who took an interest in all the 



I/O THE FARM -YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

voiing men, and watched with something more than, and 
very different from, a mother's interest, all the young women, 
said he was desperately in love with somebody, and she 
knew it. Clara Bell said nothing. She only wondered 
why Charles seemed to avoid her. She thought he must 
be angry with her for not having written to him as he had 
desired when he left her ; but then what could she, occu- 
pied by all the perplexities which Dr. Parker had woven 
around her, write to him who seemed to her to have no 
place in any spot which the Doctor claimed to occupy "^ 
She recalled the days spent by her under his tuition, and 
the day when they parted, and she realized a certain golden 
light around those hours, and a sort of morning cheerful- 
ness which she could not entirely understand. She knew 
she herself had changed since that midnight drive from 
the seaside, and she began to believe that everybody knew 
it also, as well as she did. And although no allusion had 
ever been made to the events of that night, or to Dr. 
Parker, except with a significant look, which was intended 
to carry the idea of a thorough knowledge of all the sweet 
bonds between herself and him, she could not remove from 
her mind the thought that the whole village, Charles in- 
cluded, maintained a charitable silence with regard to that 
wretched drive, out of regard for her own feelings. She 
was but a young girl, too, and she supposed that such as 
she could not possibly occupy any place in the thoughts 
of great and busy village physicians, and the foremost 
scholars of great and distinguished universities ; how little 
did she know of the heart of man, and who will take up 
her abode there in spite of him, and when he least knows 
it. She did not exactly understand herself nor anybody 
else, as it would appear. She had never thought of loving 
Dr. Parker, but she somehow felt that he had a right of 
possession in her which she supposed she must submit to 
and recognize, a feeling which no misconduct of his had 



THE HAY CROP. I /I 

in any degree removed. She had never thought of being 
obedient to Charles Ingalls, nor dependent upon him even 
when his absence weighed upon her, and his presence was 
a joy to her, and the sudden thought of him would startle 
her with a thrilling emotion which she did not compre- 
hend. Dr. Parker's conduct towards her had never 
changed. Before that summer excursion, it was a mixture 
of father and lover, and afterwards it was exactly the same. 
He never seemed to go out of his way to seek her comi)an- 
ionship, but he met her everywhere with an unruffled air 
of divine right, and with an apparent consciousness of a 
kind of matter-of-course relation between them, which no 
fortunate circumstances could ever inflame, and which no 
irregularities could ever destroy. He loved her, and loved 
her with a depth of affection which he could not express, 
and dared not recognize, and felt bound to conceal, and 
which, after his wicked display of gross and unmanly self- 
indulgence, he had conscientiously endeavored to forget. 
And so the people of the village, and Dr. Parker, and 
Charles Ingalls, and Clara were all enveloped in a cloud, 
because not one of them knew apparently anything about 
another, or himself, beyond the events and emotions which 
made up the ordinary village life. The people, and calm 
Dr. Parker, and unconscious Clara might stand it, but the 
Schoolmaster could stand it no longer. 

There are no problems so difficult to solve as those of 
our own creation. No combination and network of trouble 
and difficulty can be so intricate and so involved that the 
natural events of passing time will not solve and unravel 
them, and evolve all the right and justice which may for a 
time be buried and concealed. It is we ourselves who, in the 
trying hour, ask the unanswerable questions. It is we our- 
selves who create the insurmountable obstacle. We too 
often beat against bars ot our own construction ; and in our 
blindness and passion and anxiety we wear ourselves out 



172 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

against imaginary obstacles, which vanish at last before 
the actual reality when it becomes fairly presented and 
understood. So it was with Charles Ingalls the school- 
master. His case was simple enough, but he had a thou- 
sand misgivings and doubts and fears, a thousand plans, a 
thousand expedients for securing his own peace and happi- 
ness, made necessary by his own imagination, and all weak 
and futile as compared with the power of strong faith, 
and manly assertion, and unflinching and unwavering 
endeavor. If he had told Clara Bell that he loved her, 
and had there left the matter, she would have found it 
out, and Dr. Parker would have found it out, and the 
people would have found it out ; and then Clara Bell 
would have understood herself, and Dr. Parker would have 
become conscious of his situation, and would have retired, 
and all the people would have said amen, and to Charles 
Ingalls the way of life would have been open. But this 
is never done. Common-sense seldom lays out the road 
which is travelled by love. And he who is wise as a 
teacher, and a farmer, and a lawyer, and a merchant, and 
a minister, and a citizen, and calmly and sensibly disposes 
of the business obstacles of life, loses himself and is hope- 
lessly entangled in that gentler service, which demands 
more faith, and more generous impulse, and keener insight 
than all other duties and designs of life. The field in 
which the Schoolmaster worked was not a broad one, it is 
true, but its difficulties were just as great as if it had been 
broader. And he turned now to the church choir, now to 
the charm of a social evening party, now to the Club, and 
now to the hour when, in the natural order of boarding 
round, he might find himself domiciled in the family of 
Jim Bell, for an opportunity to restore the old light and 
joy which he had found in Jotham, to bless himself and to 
deliver a young life from the hell of being bound to a 
being so fixed, mature, and immovable, that all the power 



THE HAY CROP. 173 

of gentle influences is lost, and obedience takes the place 
of love. 

While this drama was going on in the mind of Charles 
Ingalls, and he was toiling and struggling with a desperate 
determination, which would have amazed his friends and 
neighbors who looked at matters just as they were, could 
they have entered into his mind and heart, it is not to be 
supposed that the work of Jotham was in any way sus- 
pended. The farming and preaching and discussing and 
manufacturing went on as usual, and so did the Club. 
And with a cool deliberation, amazing to the perturbed 
Schoolmaster, the committee met, selected the subject for 
the next meeting, and urged a full and punctual attendance 
on all. Dr. Parker arid the Schoolmaster included. 

Glad vvas Mr. Hopkins when the members of the Club 
assembled at his house on that cold and hard December 
evening, and carried him back to the associations of the 
summer tim'e and its most delightful avocations, by dis- 
cussing the best mode of raising and curing 

THE HAY CROP. 

In opening the discussion, Mr. President Hopkins re- 
marked that the importance and value of the hay crop 
would lead him into a consideration of the various modes 
of cutting and curing hay, leaving it for others to give 
their views with regard to preparing and seeding down the 
land, and the best time of year in which to do this, ques- 
tions upon which he freely confessed that he was unde- 
cided. 

The best grasses known to us are undoubtedly timothy or 
herds-grass and redtop. Clover serves as a good introduction 
to better grasses, on land just laid down, nothing more. There 
are heavy clay lands in some parts of the town, where redtop 
never appears, or at any rate never reaches maturity, even if 



1/4 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

the seed be carefully sown. On the lighter lands it is one of 
the most useful and beautiful of our grasses. Herds-grass or 
timothy is, however, our leading grass, — that grass which 
yields the largest burden of good hay on well-cultivated lands, 
and furnishes, when well cured, the best fodder for our catde 
and horses. 

It is very important, therefore, that we should ascertain, so 
far as may be, the best time for cutting and the best mode of 
curing this valuable grass, so that it may furnish the feeder 
with the largest amount of nourishment for his animals. I am 
not now considering the kind of hay which will make the most 
milk, or is best adapted to calves, colts, and young stock 




THE HAYMAKERS. 



generally, or will be the permanent food of sheep. We desire 
to learn, if possible, that condition of herds-grass hay which 
will supply the largest amount of those elements which make 
animal fibre, fat, bones, and muscle. 

I do not think that hay which, when cured, bears a resem- 
blance to rowen will do this. I have no doubt that animals fed 
on hay of this description will thrive well, especially when 
lavishly fed on it. I have do doubt that cattle fed on such hay 
have a larger reserved capacity for consuming corn and other 
grain than when fed on hay of a maturer quality. The capacity 



THE HAY CROP. ' 1/5 

of cattle for consuming rowen seems to be unlimited. And it 
is generally understood that it is not a profitable or an econom- 
ical kind of hay to feed ; and that it requires a liberal supply 
of grain when it is used, if it ever is, in the business of stall- 
feeding. 

The great object of the feeder should be to have his hay in 
such condition as to be able to avoid the necessity for an ex- 
cessive amount of grain. The hay " that spends the best " is 
the most valuable. A hundred-weight of hay which will pro- 
duce as much fat with a bushel of corn meal as a hundred- 
weight of hay of different quality will with two bushels, is cer- 
tainly the more profitable for the farmer, whether he feeds his 
animals for labor or fat. This no one will deny. That hay, 
moreover, which shrinks the least after cutting, and at the same 
time retains all its nutritive qualities, is the most profitable and 
desirable to all who would make the most of their hay crops. 

I think there is a period in the growth of herds-grass when it 
reaches its maximum in this respect ; when it contains all the 
nutritive elements it is capable of supplying the animal which 
consumes it. But this is not when it is half grown ; when the 
head is half formed ; when it has no well-organized fibre to give 
it strength and consistency. It is not when it is in blossom. 
For at both these periods it is deficient in starch and sugar and 
gluten, the most important of its nutritive elements ; and it 
abounds with water. It is in fact immature, and is in the 
condition of any other plant or any root or fruit which is half 
grown and half organized. 

I do not mean to contend that grass should be ripe before 
it is cut, for the change which takes place in the stalk of all 
grasses which bear seeds or grain when the seed becomes ma- 
ture and fit for reproduction is such as to deprive it of a' large 
portion of its nutritive elements, and to leave a large prepon- 
derance of woody, indigestible matter. The plant has then 
reached a period when its decay begins, and when its value 
consists very much in the seed which it has borne. 

There is a period, however, when the seed is fully formed, 
and is yet " in the milk," as it is termed, during which grasses 



176 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

contain more nourishment, including that found in the stalk, 
leaves, and seeds, than at any other. This is the time when I 
think grass ought to be cut. It has then "more heart in it," 
to use a common farming expression ; not onl}' is the grass 
itself more thoroughly organized, but the seed, also, which in 
well-grown herds-grass is abundant, contains a large amount 
of nourishment, being equal in this respect to grain of any kind, 
weight for weight. Experience has taught nie that grass cut 
at this period of its growth, and properly cured, makes hay 
of the highest quality. Cattle that have been fatted with the 
smallest expense for grain have been fed on such hay. I have 
seen horses, performing constant service, in good, hard, muscu- 
lar working condition, as if supplied with corn, fed on such hay 
alone. 

I am aware that much of our grass stands too long, especially 
on large farms, where a great amount of hay is to be cut. This 
may render it necessary in some cases to begin cutting the 
grass before it is in proper condition. But even in such cases 
it is not the earliest cut nor the latest which is the best. It is 
that which, when cured, has neither the succulent weakness 
of rowen, nor the hard and woody fibre of straw ; but that 
which has the firmness and consistency and color and quality 
which all m<^n understand, who know by necessary experience 
and observation what is the most nutritious and economical 
hay which they can purchase in the market. 

I have not alluded to the commercial value of the hay crop, 
because I am aware that many of the comparisons instituted 
between it and the cotton, tobacco, and other staple crops of 
the country are entirely out of place. When hay is made an 
article of sale, and is shipped from the farm to a market, it is 
done at the expense of the locality in which it is cultivated. 
The most profitable mode of using this great crop is to con- 
sume it on the farm where ir grows, constituting, as it does, the 
material from which the vital force of the farm is to be con- 
stantly renewed and retained. It is indeed the fuel used to 
move the machinery, and when it is withdrawn or exhausted 
the machinery must suffer. In a few fortunate localities, as on 



THE HAY CROP. 1/7 

the seaboard, where kelp and other sea manure can be found in 
abundance, hay can be raised and sold as a marketable crop ; 
but not where the farmer depends upon his cattle for the fertili- 
zation of his farm. I wish it were otherwise. But not until the 
ingenuity of man has invented some condensed fertilizer capa- 
ble of taking the place of the natural manures, and economi- 
cally supplied, can we hope to cbnvert our interior farms into 
hay farms for supplying the market. I trust this state of affairs 
will one day arrive. There are many valuable tracts of land 
lying in regions remote from railway communication which 
could be converted into profitable grass lands by the use of 
such a fertilizing material as I have alluded to. And I have 
no doubt that the increasing demand for hay in all our large 
towns and cities, — a demand which increases more rapidly 
than the supply, — will render the restoration of these deserted 
lands absolutely necessary. 

With these general remarks, I present the question for dis- 
cussion, with the hope that the best method of seeding grass 
lands will receive the early and thorough investigation to which 
its importance entitles it. 

John Thomas, being called upon by the Chair, no one 
indicating a readiness to speak, said : — 

I have for a long time been deeply interested in the growing 
of grass as a farm crop. I am not satisfied to cut from my fields 
a scanty supply, and am entirely unwilling to travel over a large 
surface to get what hay ought to grow on a small one. I have 
read in one of Flint's reports a very good collection of opinions 
from practical farmers on the subject of seeding grass lands, and 
they agree so generally with my own, as drawn from experience 
on my farm, that I desire especially to read the passage to the 
Club. 

" More than sixty years ago," the author says, " careful ex- 
periments were made in this State in hope of obtaining such 
information as would settle the question as to the best time of 
sowing grass-seed, and the practice of seeding down in the fall 
was then begun bv a few individuals. At and before that time 



178 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

the practice of sowing in the spring was universal, and the same 
custom has very generally prevailed till within a very few years. 
Both the practice and opinion of the best practical farmers 
among us have changed to a considerable extent, and it is now 
commonly thought best to sow grass-seed in the fall, early in 
September if possible, mixing no grain or anything else with it, 
though there are and always will be some cases where the prac- 
tice of sowing in the sprii g with grain is convenient and judi- 
cious. There can be no doubt th U it is in most cases an injury 
to both crops to sow them together." I can hardly agree with 
this ; for I have been very successful in seeding down land 
which had long been under the plough in the spring, using 
barley as the grain with which to sow my grass-seed. " The 
following statement of an experienced and successful farmer 
will enable us to comprehend how the change was brought 
about, though others had tried the experiment long before him : 
' More than twenty years ago we had several dry summers, in 
the springs of which I had sown grass-seed with rye, barley, and 
sometimes wheat, and lost most of my seed by the drought. 
I could scrape it up, the plants being dead and dry when small. 
Since that time I have universally ploughed after haying, and 
sowed timothy grass and redtop.' 

" Other farmers probably experienced the same difficulty and 
came to the same conclusion. Our seasons differ greatly, to be 
sure, but it is now well understood that we must calculate on a 
drought in some part of the summer, and grass will suffer more 
from drought than from frost. Hence the propriety of fall 
sowing. There are some localities, undoubtedly, where spring 
sowing with grain is best, on the whole, as in the southeastern 
sections of the State, along the coast, where, on account of the 
proximity of the sea, the ground is often but slightly covered 
and protected with snow ; yet, even there, some farm.ers say it 
is better to seed in August and September. Few general rules 
are of universal application in agriculture, and the farmer must 
carefully exercise sound judgment and common-sense. One 
practical farmer in Essex, in answer to our circular, says : ' I 
prefer August, because I think it less liable to winter-kill than to 



THE HAY CROP. 179 

summer-kill. And another greater reason is that in fall seeding 
I get rid of a crop of weeds, while in spring seeding my ground 
is seeded with them.' An experienced farmer of Hampshire 
writes : ' I rather prefer the last week in August for seeding 
down land. The reason is that we frequently have a summer 
drought which kills out the young grass.' One of the best 
farmers in Middlesex says : * ^Vhen sown alone, I prefer from 
the 20th of August to the 20th of September. If sown sooner, 
the summer droughts are apt to injure the young blades ; 
if later, they do not have a chance to expand and arrive at 
that degree of maturity necessary for a good crop the ensuing 
season.' He says, also, that if in any case it is found necessar}'' 
to sow with grain, it should be in the spring and not in the fall. 
An experienced practical farmer in Essex Count}^ recommends 
* the latter part of August and the month of September for seed- 
ing down grass land for mowing, unless that season be very dry ; 
in that case sow as soon after rain as may be. I do not think 
it advisable to sow grass-seed when the earth is very dry, as 
some of it may, by the moisture brought up in preparing the 
land, sprout, but not having continued moisture to support it 
will wither away, while some of the lighter seeds will, perhaps, 
swell by the moisture, but fail to sprout by a lack of nourish- 
ment, and consequently perish, while others will be blown 
away by the winds. The plant from seed sown in August and 
September, if the season is moist, will take deep root and be 
able to withstand the changes of weather in winter. Grass-seed 
sown with grain in the spring is liable to be killed in the hot 
days of July and August, about the time of cutting the grain, 
particularly on light, sandy, or gravelly lands. Clover should 
be sown in the spring, as soon as convenient after the frost is 
out of the ground, on land seeded down the preceding autumn, 
probably, rather than sooner in the autumn, as the winter 
is too severe for the tender roots. I have found March 
to be the best time for sowing clover-seed on those lands. 
I always sow on a light fall of snow in that month if there 
is one.' A farmer of Worcester County says: 'On moist land 
I prefer to turn over the greensward after laving with a 



l8o THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

Michigan plough, and seed in August, after spreading on a 
coat of manure to give the grass an early start.' A farmer of 
Franklin County writes : 'I consider the month of August as 
the best time to seed down land for mowing, with the exception 
of clover, and that I seed early in the spring.' Another from 
Hampden : ' I think August or the early part of September is 
the best time to seed down grass land, as in the fall of the j^ear 
it will get root and not be burned up by the sun as it would be 
in the spring.' Another says : ' I sow from the middle of Au- 
gust to the middle of September. If sown in spring with oats 
or other grain, the young grass is liable to be summer killed, 
either choked by the ranker growth of the grain, or scorched 
by the hot sun when the grain is taken off. If sown in spring 
without grain there is one season lost. This I never do unless 
I want my crop to be checked hopelessly by weeds.' A farmer 
on the Connecticut River states that ' if the season is not too 
dry, August is a good month to seed for mowing. I have had 
very good success in seeding with turnips or grass-seed alone, 
in August and September, to mow the next year ; but the usual 
practice here is to seed with wheat or rye in September or 
October. Some seed in spring with oats, but generally it does 
not do well. Clover is more often sown in the spring, because 
it winter-kills.' A very successful farmer in Berkshire advises 
August or September. ' I have sown in October with good 
success. Seed sown in August obtains more root than when 
sown later, and consequently is not as liable to winter-kill. It 
also starts earlier the next spring, thereby keeping down the 
weeds. Much of our moist meadow land, too wet for hoed 
crops, and producing but light crops of grass, and that of an 
inferior quality, may be made to produce well by ploughing and 
seeding. Let it be ploughed deep in August or September, the 
surface well harrowed, and covered with a light coat of compost, 
ashes, or barn-yard manure, and seeded, and the next year the 
crop will pay all expense.' But, on the other hand, a practical 
farmer on the island of Martha's Vineyard says : ' I prefer 
seeding down land designed for mowing in April, for the reason 
that if sown in March the ground becomes so compact from the 



THE HAY CROP. l8l 

effect of heavy rains that the seed does not come up well, and 
if sown in August or September the grass does not attain 
that degree of maturity to enable it to withstand the frequent 
freezing and thawing of the succeeding winter. \Ve have usu- 
ally but little snow to protect the young grass on this island. 
I'he objection to sowing grass-seed after English harvest will 
not probably apply to those places where the winters are less 
changeable.' Another says: 'I have sown grass-seed in the 
months of March, April, May, August, September, and October. 
On a rich, compact, retentive soil, seed has done well sown in 
April or May, but I prefer to seed my land of any description 
in August, or on a light snow in March. My reason is, that 
when I have seeded my ground in the sfiring, I have sown rye 
or oats with die grass-seed generally ; if not, a crop of weeds 
would come up and usurp the place of the grasses and choke 
them out, and a hot, dry July and August would exterminate 
what escaped the oats and weeds.' " 

I have read this statement, gentlemen, because it gives the 
views of many practical farmers who are evidently interested 
in the question and have experience in the work of raisino- 
grass crops. I wish they had been a little more definite ; but 
still they are of great value. For myself, I prefer cultivating 
a piece of land with hoed crops three years after it is broken 
up, planting it to corn the last of the three years, and seeding it 
down the next spring with barley and grass-seed as early as the 
land and weather will permit. In this Avay I can clean my land 
of weeds, fill it with manure, subject it to proper manipulation, 
and succeed in the end in getting a firmer sod and a longer 
succession of grass crops than in any other way. I pursue this 
course 'always on warm, strong, loamy lands, from which I am 
almost sure to get a good hoed crop, — a crop of corn or 
potatoes or roots. My heavy clay lands I plough, manure, and 
seed in August, as recommended by so many farmers whose 
statements I have read ; but I am obliged to plough g,nd seed 
again after this process sooner than I am where I adopt the 
first one I have named. I never undertake to lay down my 
lands after a ]Dotato or a turnip crop. I can never get a good 



1 82 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

set of grass after either of these crops. Corn is the best crop, 
so far as my experience goes, to follow with grass. Give me 
good corn land, plenty of manure, barley to sow my grass-seed 
with, and I am almost certain of getting my land well laid down, 
and of getting a good crop for many years, unless I fall-feed it 
too heavily, or it is injured by drought or frost. 

When John Thomas concluded, there were many who 
manifested a desire to speak ; but the hour was late, and 
Mr. Hopkins announced that the subject would be con- 
tinued at the next meeting. The members departed, 
leaving Mr. Howe and the Schoolmaster chatting with the 
President, who had lighted his cigar and had settled down 
for a talk. The absence of Dr. Parker was alluded to, and 
the two elderly gentlemen grew suddenly silent and mys- 
terious. Charles Ingalls was bewildered again, fell into a 
brown-study, sat awhile, and then followed the rest. His 
companions remained to discuss Dr. Parker and Clara 
Bell, whose name he heard mentioned before he had closed 
the door. He derived little peace from that as.sembly ; 
his walk home was gloomy and his night restless. 



THE HAY CROP. 1 83 



THIRTEENTH MEETING. 

• THE HAY CROP (Contiimcd). 

SEEDING GRASS LANDS. — PETER ILSLEY DEBATES AND WAN- 
DERS. -DR. PARKER LOSES HIS TEMPER. 

1 HE surface of Jotham was as smooth and unruffled as 
a glassy summer sea. Even the conversational monotone 
of a New England village was unbroken ; the muscular 
repose which marks the countenance of the typical Ameri- 
can was undisturbed ; the non-committal custom of an- 
swering one question by asking another was faithfully 
observed, and no one could have discovered by any out- 
ward manifestation that, within that placid society and in 
the simplicity of that rural people, the deep, hot mysteries 
of the human heart were raging and glowing. And so, at 
the appointed hour, the members of the Farm-yard Club 
assembled at Mr. Hopkins's to continue the discussion on 
the Hay Crop. 

President Hopkins announced that the important ques- 
tions of what grasses to select, how to seed down the land, 
the best time to cut grass, had already been thoroughly 
considered ; and he felt confident that the views advanced 
on these points at the last meeting would be found to be 
advantageous to all who would apply them. He looked 
upon the amount of seed to be used, the selection of 
annual and perennial grasses, and the best method of 
making hay, as also questions of vital importance to the 
farmer ; and he hoped they would be carefully discussed 
by the Club. 

Mr. Howe expressed the opinion that on most lands a 



1 84 THE FARM-YARD CLL/B OF JOTHAM. 

liberal use of seed was desirable. "I have examined many 
theories," said he, " and I find none better than that based 
on the practice of the best farmers I have known in this 
section of the State. The object of seeding should be to 
occupy the land entirely with the crop of grass which you 
propose to raise. If the grass-seed is sown in the spring 
with barley, this grain will aid very materially in prevent- 
ing the growth of weeds, which are liable to spring up in 
the early summer months, and will also protect the tender 
grass through the hot months of July and August. But 
if grass-seed is sown in the autumn, the entire work of 
occupying the land so as to prevent the growing of the 
weeds will fall upon the grass alone. Whether, therefore, 
you sow in the spring with grain, and desire to prevent the 
great growth of weeds, or sow in the autumn and wish to 
provide against the injury from frost in winter, I think it 
best to use an abundant supply of seed. There is but 
little danger of the plants choking each other ; and I am 
not sure that the stalks of grass, like the trees in the 
forest, do not protect each other. Good land, moreover, 
land in excellent tilth and well manured (and no other 
should be seeded to grass), requires a thick growth of 
plants in order to produce the largest crop of which it is 
capable. I should say, therefore, for the hay crop, give 
me good, strong land, plenty of manure, and a liberal 
supply of seed. What would be called a liberal supply, I 
leave it for those who come after me to indicate." 

When Mr. Howe had concluded his little introduction, 
Peter Ilsley arose, with the air of one who is conscious of 
superior knowledge and experience, and delivered himself 
as follows : — 

Mr. Moderator, — No man here can sa)' that I have taken 
the time of this Club in long speeches or in much discussion. I 
have heard the minister, and the doctor, and the schoohnaster, 
and the fancy farmer — excuse me, Mr. Moderator — all t'.ll about 



THE HAY CROP. 185 

the farm and the way to carry it on ; and I have n't said a word. 
Sometimes I have got in over my ears trying to follow these 
men, but I have generally managed to make out what tliey 
meant ; and if I did n't, I have concluded that it was more their 
fault than mine. For I have always noticed that any man can 
tell other people what he thoroughly understands himself. I'ut, 
howsomever, I know grass, and hay, and grass-seed, and a good 
crop, and how to make hay while the sun shines. And I won't 
give up to any man in this part of farming. Now as to seeding. 
The minister is more than half right. You can put too many 
kernels of corn into a hill. You can plant potatoes too thick in 
a row. You can bother and pester mangolds and ruta-bagas to 
death, by having them too thick. But I like a good firm sod of 
grass, and even if the crop is fine because it stands so thick, I 
would rather have it than coarser and heavier grass growing on 
land thinly seeded. I don't mean to say that you can seed every 
kind of land in the same way. Light, sandy lands cannot bear a 
heavy growth of grass. They want every plant to have a chance 
by itself. Even if you manure them well, you must not exhaust 
them by giving them more seed than they can handle. But 
good, rich, strong land, land made for grass, should have a 
chance to bear all that can stand upon it. I never seed down 
sandy land. It don't ])ay. I want always a patch for melons, 
and squashes, and cucumbers, and early stuff for the market ; so 
I keep my sandy, light land for such crops as these. But I don't 
believe in trying to raise grass on land like this. Give me a 
heavy, clayey loam, and I will get all the grass you can swing 
a scythe through, and all you can make on the ground. Grass 
grown thick on such land as this, and cut in good season, will 
always make good hay. And if the season is a good one, and 
the land rich, you can get second crop enough to pay for a year's 
work and interest. This I call grass land. You can't get good 
corn off of it ; you can't get good potatoes ; you can't get good 
turnips ; you can't get early crops ; but you can get good grass 
and enough of it. Now. such land as this I seed well ^\■hen I 
began I did just as my father did before me, and sowed three 
pecks of herds-grass, a peck of redtop, and four pounds of clover 



1 86 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

to the acre. But I soon quit that. I found that my crop was 
too thin. There were a good many Httle bare spots on the field. 
Th t srass grew too rank to be reallv good. The hav was coarse, 
but Hght. It didn't weigh well ; and because it didn't weigh 
well, it did n't feed out well. The cattle did n't thrive on it. 
It didn't spend well. I found that the finer grass, kind of run 
hay, not exactly meadow hay, but fine soft grass that grows in the 
dry runs, where there is not too much clay, went three times as 
far in feeding cattle and milch cows. A forkful was as heavy 
again as my coarse herds-grass, and so I made up my mind to 
sow my seed thicker. I used half a bushel of herds-grass, three 
pecks of redtop, and, if it was sown in the spring, seven pounds 
of clover, and I have had no trouble since. Sometimes where 
the land is very heavy I don't get much redtop. But I get a 
plenty of good fine herds-grass, and the first year a first-rate cut 
of clover. I have tried this way of seeding a good many years, 
and have found no reason to quit it. My hay is better t an it 
was when I used less seed, and I am sure there is more of it. 

But, Mr. Moderator (I meant Mr. President, — i thought I 
was in a town meeting), I raise some kinds of grass just as 
I do grain. If I am going to sell hay, I want herds-grass and 
redtop ; and I don't want to try to sell to a man who knows 
anything, until my land has been in grass one year at least. 
The growth of the second year will do pretty well to buy. But 
the growth of the first year, if the land is strong, is not profita- 
ble to feed to horses or oxen or milch cows. It will do to 
work up into chopped feed ; but it is n't first-class hay, anyhow. 
But it is herds-grass and redtop that I want to raise for general 
use with my horses and oxen, and for the market. For my 
milch cows, for young stock, for horses that are not doing quite 
as well as they ought to, I raise Hungarian grass. Somebody 
said it was poor stuff for horses ; that it hurt them ; that it 
made them broken-winded, and bloated their legs, and made 
them lose flesh when their food was changed. But I never 
found any such trouble as this with it. I have fed a young 
horse on it, in the fall of the year, not long after it was got into 
the barn, and he grew fat and strong faster than I have ever 



THE HAY CROP. 1 8/ 

known horses to do on hay and grain. I have used it for 
working horses," and they did well on it. And I have fed it 
now and then to my working oxen, and they like it for a change 
at least. I raise it, however, mostly for my milch cows. It 
will make more milk than English hay. And when I have a 
good milk-market 1 always lay in for a good supply of Hun- 
garian. This kind of grass I raise just as I do barley, or oats, 
or rye. It will grow but one year, and so you must plough and 
manure and seed every year if you want to get a crop. It will 
not grow on poor land. I see John Thomas looking at me, and 
I want to say to him that I am not talking about green food for 
cows in the summer season, — so he need n't think I am coming 
into his theory about fodder-corn. I am talking now about 
hay ; so he can look the other way if he likes, and I will have 
no more fuss with him. I say I want good land for it. If I 
have had a piece in corn, and have manured it well, I like to- 
raise Hungarian on it. And first I plough early in the spring, 
as soon as the frost is out of the ground. I then let the land 
lie until about the first of June ; give it about six cords of good 
well-rotted manure to the acre ; plough it in shallow ; then 
plough again ; harrow as fine as I can ; and then sow my seed. 
Half a bushel of Hungarian grass-seed to the acre is enough. 
If you sow more, the crop is apt to be short and too fine. It 
lacks firmness ; and when it is cut and dried it withers away. 
The seed should be brushed in, or harrowed in with a very light 
harrow, and the land rolled. Now, if this is all done between 
the first and middle of June, when the weather is warm and 
the earth is beginning to feel the summer heat, you can get 
your seed started before the weeds spring up, and the chances 
are that you will get a good crop. If you sow earlier the weeds 
will get the start of you. If you sow later, the crop will not 
have time to grow before the summer haymaking weather is 
all over. The great trouble in raising Hungarian is the weeds ; 
and I have told you the best way to avoid them, because I have 
heard so much complaint that the crop is almost worthless and 
hardly worth raising on account of this nuisance. Prepare the 
land well, manure it well, sow the seed when the weather is 



1 88 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

really warm, — warm enough to bring up the corn and make it 
grow right along, and, my word for it, you will not be disap- 
pointed. You can get four tons or more of this kind of hay 
to the acre ; it does not get damaged by being wet, as English 
hay does ; it will stand the effects of a storm about as well as 
corn-fodder ; and it always spends well when fed to milch cows 
in the winter. I am talking about grass cut and made into hay ; 
and I hope nobody will charge me with abandoning my fodder- 
corn, for I raise that still, to use in the dry summer weeks in 
August and September, before the fall feed comes. But I raise 
Hungarian, acres and acres of it, every season, for winter feed 
for my milch cows. If it is rank, coarse, and heavy, I chop it 
and wet it with warm water, adding meal and shorts. And I am 
as sure as I am that I am alive, that no better food for cows 
can be found. I reckon that an acre of good Hungarian grass 
fed to good cows, cows that will give fifteen quarts a day, and 
these are good enough, will bring $ 250, besides the manure, 
and this is doing pretty well, when you consider that there is no 
hoeing to be done, and that the harvesting is as easy as harvest- 
ing the hay crop. Do you doubt this ? I see Barnes smiles. 
But reckon it up and see. Four tons of the hay, w^hich will 
grow on one acre, will feed two cows six months. If they give 
fifteen quarts of milk a day each, and you stdl your milk for six 
cents a quart, — and I calculate to get more, — you wiil receive 
in six months % 360. Allow $ no of this for grain for your cows, 
and you have $ 250 as the result of that work, or my arithmetic 
is all wrong. I call this doing pretty well. And I am willing 
to raise Hungarian as long as I keep cows, sell milk, and make 
manure. In reckoning my profits on an acre of Hungarian 
grass, I have said that I fed it to cows giving fifteen quaits of 
milk a day. I don't expect a cow to give more in winter in 
a herd of thirty or fortv, and I don't want one which will give 
less. I am very careful to have my cows b.gin to milk in the 
fall. If they must be fed all winter, I want them to pay for 
what they eat as well as they can. And I know that a ton of 
hay fed to a cow giving five quarts of milk a day will not bring 
me in as much money as if it were fed to a cow giving fifteen 



THE HAY CROP. I 89 

quarts. I like winter milch cows for profit. I like to feed 
them. It is like paying good wages to a first-rate man, — you 
will always get a new dollar for an t)ld one, if you know how to 
set him at work. But to feetl a drone, or a loafer, or a dry 
cow, — I cannot and I will not have that going on where I am, 
at any rate. John Thomas may do it for charity if he likes ; 
but if I am going to give anything away, I want to give it away, 
and not squander it, — give it where it would amount to charity, 
and not waste it where it would be a premium on idleness. 
Vou might as well throw stones into an old well as to — 

Here the President reminded Mr. Ilsley that the rules 
of the Club required every member to confine himself to 
the subject under discussion, and he was especially desirous 
that disturbing questions of religion, morals, and politics 
should be kept out of their deliberations. He expressed 
his great obligations to Mr. Ilsley for the practical remarks 
which he had made, and hoped he would continue them, 
and excuse him for interrupting him in the current of his 
thoughts. For one, he would be glad to hear more of the 
processes of seeding grass lands, and he was particularly 
interested in the best mode of making hay, — a matter 
which had been much discussed, and on which he did not 
doubt that Mr. Ilsley had had large experience, and could 
present some useful and important views. 

But the thread of Peter Ilsley's discourse was broken ; 
he could not rally ; he had gathered so much strength as 
he went on, that when he was checked, a sudden and 
unexpected exhaustion followed. He only remarked, there- 
fore, when the President closed his statement, that he must 
be excused for trying to imitate the wise men of the Club, 
much of whose talk belonged to one text just as well as to 
another, in his opinion, adding, " The old cock crows, and 
the young one learns." Upon this he sat down, and left 
the matter for others to discuss. 

" Mr. President," said John Thomas, " my friend Ilsley 



I go THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

has done well. He need n't have raked up the old quarrel 
about fodder-corn, it is true, for I understood what he was 
driving at just as well as -he did himself He was talking 
about hay, and I was thinking about it ; and, when a thing 
is settled with me, it is settled." 

" O, don't harp upon that old matter any more, " said 
Ilsley ; " I got at it by accident, just as half the great 
speakers do ; and, when I had paddled in, I paddled out 
again as quick as I could. But I don't believe John 
Thomas is in order under the rules. Can't you bring him 
to, as you did me, Mr. President } " 

The President reminded Mr. Thomas of the rule, and 
enlarged somewhat on the courtesies of debate and the 
weakness of personality in all discussion. Upon which the 
thrifty farmer of Jotham resumed his remarks. 

" I have noticed a good deal of debate lately about the 
best methods of making hay, as well as of seeding the land 
and cutting the grass. It seems to be the opinion of many 
very sensible men and good farmers, that grass had better 
be cut in the morning, after the dew is off, and stacked or 
stored in the barn the same day. I do not know how this 
is, — but T have my doubts. Can any member of the Club 
give an account of this new process .' " 

No one replied, until the Schoolmaster, who had been 
silent the whole evening, as he had during many previous 
evenings, and who was always expected to know something 
about every question which involved considerable book- 
learning, rose and said: — 

I do not think, Mr. President, that the plan to which Mr. 
Thomas alludes has been so generally adopted as to make it a 
matter important enough for discussion, or for any special ex- 
periment. A kind of hay known as brown hay has long been 
known in some parts of Europe ; and of course its existence 
there is enough to make it an object of inquiry here. As near 
as I can learn, the mode of preparation which results in convert- 



THE HAY CROP. I9I 

\\Yg grass into brown Iriy is cmtined ina'nlv to tho.->c sections of 
Europe where a fine hay-clay, with a clear air and a bright sun, 
is not often found. The grass is cut, as Mr. Johnson says, in 
the morning as soon as the dew is off, and if thtre is no rainfall 
during the midday, it is hauled into the barns or stacked in ihe 
field, as may be most conxenient to the haymaker. We are told 
that by this process, in which the grass is cured rather by biing 
cooked in packing than dried in the open air, a nutritious and 
palatable hay is jiroduced ; and that in this manner not only is 
time saved, but the risks of the weather, attendant on the usual 
long process of dr)ing, are avoided. It is usual, in storing hay 
in this green state, to be sure that it is free from dew, and all 
external moisture caused by rain, and to fill the mow or complete 
the stack in which the hay is to be placed so as to avoid the 
necessity of giving it a new supply on any following day. The 
top of the mow or stack is covered with a foot or two of straw 
or refuse hay, and the mass is left to dry and ripen. The steam 
and heat rising from the mass destroys the covering entirely, or 
converts it into a pile, decayed and mouldy ; while the hay it- 
self goes through a change which makes it equal to the best hay 
prepared in the usual way, in the most auspicious weather. This 
plan, which is adopted perhaps from necessity in .the dim and 
hazy sunlight of Northern Europe, has many advocates in this 
country. They are very earnest in defending their custom, and 
assure us that their hay is vastly superior to that of their neigh- 
bors, and to their own which they cure in the usual manner. I 
cannot learn, however, that they have many followers, or that 
the custom is very generally adopted. And I have been inclined 
to look upon the whole thing as largely a matter of experiment 
and speculation ; and to believe that, in describing the process, 
many of the concurrent circumstances, such as the condition of 
the grass, the amount yielded by the acre, the time of year when 
it was cut, have been omitted or lost sight of. That grass heavy 
enough to make three tons of hay to the acre can be properly 
cured in this fashion, I doubt. And I have found but few farm- 
ers who, either for their own use or the market, were willing to 
substitute hav cooked in the mow for that sweet-scented and 



192 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM 

nutritious fodder which is made from good English grass, cut 
when in good condition, and dried under a good hot American 
sun. 

Dr. Parker, who was present, had been quite uneasy 
during the Schoohnaster's short disquisition on brown hay. 
He was not overmuch gratified at his being called upon 
as the well-read gentleman of the Club ; and he could not 
resist the temptation of presenting himself in opposition to 
a system of haymaking which he knew could not be ac- 
ceptable to the farmers of Jotham, who had long been 
proud of their sweet and fragrant hay-mows, as had their 
ancestors before them. He knew very well that no cattle- 
feeder in that town would be willing to throw aside that 
delicious wisp of hay which he had twisted out of his mow, 
and applied to his nose with so much pleasure, season after 
season, and to substitute for it a dark-colored, dismal-look- 
ing, unfragrant handful of grass, cooked by self-generated 
heat, and barely escaped from spontaneous combustion. 
If he had any other reason for criticising the Schoolmas- 
ter's statement, he did not allow himself to recognize it, 
and he felt confident that the Schoolmaster himself was 
free from all suspicion. But, however this may be, he took 
the floor and announced himself in favor of the old-fash- 
ioned method of making hay, as one which had stood the 
test of time, and which should never be displaced, in a 
favorable climate like ours, by any new-fangled notions got 
up by those who had to make their hay the best way they 
could. He continued: — 

I see no necessit}^ for adopting any new plan of haymaking, 
so long as we are or ought to be satisfied with the old one. It 
is all well enough for young men to be constantly exploring out- 
of-the-way theories, to gratify their ambition, and to gratify the 
public, if possible, with a novelty. But every sensible and prac- 
tical man must know, that a plan which has borne the test of 



THL HAY CROP. 193 

time and has secured a good reputation to a community must 
be a good one, and ought not to be laid aside merely to gratif}' 
a whim or to test a theory. I am sure my old father understood 
how to make his hay, and the condition of his cattle and horses 
showed that he was right. How often have I taken part in that 
labor of the farm, and how well do I remember the beauty of 
that early morning scene, when a vigorous- band of young men 
cut their way through the dewy grass, and were ready for the 
noonday sun to do its share of the work ! Hay cut thus early in 
the day, well dried until four o'clock, raked up and cocked, 
opened the next day as soon as the dew was off, and hauled into 
the barn during the heat of the early afternoon, was always 
sweet and fragrant and nutritious. It filled the barn with its 
delicious odor ; and to the very last spire it was eaten by the 
cattle, who enjoyed it almost as much as they did the luxui'iant 
grass in June. I learned by observation in my early life, that 
such hay as this could not be made by storing the grass when 
half green, nor by allowing the hay to get wet with showers, 
nor by exposing it to the dew. I was told that dew was more 
injurious to hay than rain, and that hay should always be made 
up into cocks long before the dews begin to fall. And I do not 
doubt it. I know that hay thoroughly wet with dew is very lia- 
ble to mildew ; and I am sure that hay once mildewed can never 
be restored to its originally good condition. I think I can 
always judge of the skill and industry of a farmer, by examining 
his hay-fields towards evening. If the hay there is left in the 
swath, or is simply drawn together into windrow, to be exposed 
to the damp night-air, I doubt the thrift and knowledge of the 
owner. But if, on the other hand, I find the field studded with 
haycocks, carefully made up before the sun gets low in the 
heavens, I am confident that the work of that farm will be well 
done, and that when I wish to purchase good hay I can find it 
there. Now, during the last week in June and the first two 
weeks in July we have weather and length of days adapted to 
such a mode of curing hay as this. It is seldom that, in these 
weeks, we are visited with drenching rains. And when we con- 
sider that this is the time when most of our grass is best fitted 
13 



194 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

to be cut, I think we ought to avail ourselves of this season to 
do our haying in true American style, as we set apart certain 
clays in autumn for harvesting our crop of roots and fruit. 

I do not believe in abandoning the good old ways of our 
fathers, Mr. President, until we can, at least, find better. Let 
us, then, cut our hay in the morning, make it during the heat 
of the sun, cock it up thoroughly for the night, open it the next 
day when the ground is dry, put it into the barn while it is dry 
and warm, apply a little salt to it as it goes into the mow, and 
then invite every advocate of the brown-hay system to delight 
in its fragrance, and to witness the avidity with which cattle will 
devour it in the hard cold days of winter. 

I am willing to recognize the value of the service of those 
young men who bring their book-knowledge into our common 
schools, and engage in the useful occupation of teaching the 
youthful minds of this generation. But I would suggest that 
they stop there, and not rush into subjects which they do not 
fully understand, or interfere with the arrangements to which 
older and better men than they are devoting their minds and 
hearts. 

The last sentence of his discourse Dr. Parker delivered 
with unusual emphasis, and with a fiery glow in his eye 
which disturbed those who knew him well, and surprised 
and astonished the entire Club, and was understood by no 
one present, except himself and the Schoolmaster. 

Charles Ingalls made no reply ; but, as bad luck would 
have it, Jim Bell retorted upon the Doctor with unexpected 
spirit. He gave an account of the effect of heating in the 
mow, upon what is called black-grass, a kind of upland salt 
hay, which is not often wet by the tides ; and he described 
how a large mass of such hay had been improved in quality, 
and made especially agreeable to cattle, by being accident- 
ally stored before it was thoroughly cured, and by heating. 
It had been pitched over before the heating process had 
gone too far ; and the effect was to increase the value of 
the hay to a very considerable extent. How it was done 



THE HAY CROP. 195 

he could not tell, — whether by the development of sugar 
or starch, or what. But the improvement was manifest, 
and taught him that a certain amount of fermentation was 
valuable to some kinds of hay at least. He had often 
thouc^ht of this accidental experiment when he heard the 
brown-hay system denounced. And while he still believed 
in the plan so well adopted by our fathers and so ardently 
advocated by Dr. Parker, and had no idea of trying any 
other himself, he still thought that the subject was worthy 
of investigation, and should receive the most careful atten- 
tion of the Club. He would furthermore suggest that 
learned men were the last men who should fall out with 
each other, on account of their book-knowledge, and that 
from their good-natured discussions, and not from their 
wrangles, he had hoped to derive as much information as 
from the details and statements of practical farmers them- 
selves. 

Jim Bell was the last man whom the Doctor expected to 
hear from in this fashion. He felt the force of his remarks, 
however ; while the Club thought he had done remarkably 
well, and Charles Ingalls deceived himself with the idea 
that Jim had rushed to his rescue because he was Clara's 
father. Here the debate ended, with the exception of that 
conversational rehearsal, with which such bodies always 
taper off their deliberations, and pass into a state of confu- 
sion which can be relieved only by adjournment. 

Dr. Parker felt quite ashamed of his rudeness ; and, what 
was worse, he feared that he had foolishly exposed himself 
to Charles Ingalls, and perhaps to others of the Club. As 
the rest dispersed, therefore, he lingered behind, sat down 
before the fire with Mr. Hopkins, and took a cigar with 
that worthy gentleman, hoping in this way to remove from 
his mind at least all unpleasant effects of the little dis- 
turbance. The hay-crop was soon forgotten, and with it 
the character of the debate. And never had Mr. Hopkins 



196 THE FARM- YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

found his medical friend more agreeable and entertaining, 
as he discussed the schools of Paris and the power which 
education gives a people to accomplish the great work of 
the world. He quite envied Dr. Parker's "fraternity of 
scholars," and made up his mind to " endow a college or a 
cat," so that he might be admitted to the sacred circle, and 
dine with the alumni on commencement days. 



THE HAY CROP. 197 



FOURTEENTH MEETING. 

TNE HA V CROP (Continued). 

A SOCIAL BREEZE. -MR. WILLIAM JONES ENLIGHTENS MR. HOWE. 
— MR. HOPKINS DEFENDS CLARA BELL, AND GIVES MR. HOWE 
SOME GOOD ADVICE. 

The Reverend Jonathan Howe, Secretary of the Farm- 
yard Club, began to be perplexed and troubled. He was 
not accustomed to the controversies of public assemblies, 
and his own manners were so mild, his spirit so pure, and 
his conversation so gentle, that his presence usually sub- 
dued into propriety and decorum most of those persons 
who came in contact with him. It was a hardened sinner 
who would not be softened by Mr. Howe's melting and 
refining influences. He was, therefore, quite surprised 
and disturbed by Dr. Parker's conduct at the last meeting, 
and he was left in a bewildered state by the fierce energy 
with which the Doctor resented all interference with older 
and better men in their affairs of mind and heart, Mr. 
Howe saw, also, the Doctor's savage glance at the School- 
master as he uttered this sentiment, and the look, added 
to the words, quite dismayed him. He did not suspect 
the cause of the trouble ; he only remembered what he 
had heard of Dr. Parker's habits. He had no disposition 
to linger after the adjournment ; but his mind turned 
spontaneously to the little parlor at the parsonage, the 
well-chosen library, and the sweet and wise and cultivated 
Mrs. Howe ; and for this cheering and invigorating scene 
he started at once. To Mr. Hopkins he bade a speedy 
good-night, and, bowing to the rest, departed. He had 



198 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

barely left the threshold of the door, when he was joined 
by William Jones, whose keen eye had seen all, and whose 
worldly wits had already explored to his own satisfaction 
the field in which the saintly Mr. Howe was bewildered 
and lost. 




MR. WILLIAM JONES 



" A little bit of a breeze, to-night," said Jones, as he 
stepped up to the minister, and they pursued their way 
homeward together. 



THE HAY CROP. 1 99 

" Truly, I am amazed at Dr. Parker," said Mr. Howe. 
" He evidently dislikes the Schoolmaster, deeply and 
bitterly, and why I cannot imagine, unless it be that from 
the point of his own unsuccessful middle life he surveys 
with a jealous and envious eye the fine career which the 
young man's faculties are evidently destined to achieve." 

" The fine what V replied Mr. Jones. 

" The fine career," said the minister ; " for that Charles 
Ingalls is made for influential and important service in the 
world, no one who knows him, as you and I do, can for a 
moment doubt." 

" What do you suppose Dr. Parker cares for that .'' " said 
Jones. " He does all the business he wants to do here. 
He has all the country round about to himself Nobody 
disputes him. He knows the people believe in him, and the 
doctors consult him. He is the biggest toad in the puddle 
here, and when he goes to Boston, once a year, to meet with 
his Society, he is as big a toad as there is in that puddle 
there. He never has been on a track much, I suppose, but 
he can strike a two-forty gait on any road, and have speed 
enough left to astonish the best of 'em. What do you 
suppose he cares for the chances of a colt, which may die 
or be dead lame before he gets anywhere near a fast 
record .? Parker is smart, but he don't care to get 
anywhere. The old doctor always said Bill could beat 
anybody in the world if he would only try, but that he 
never would try. He writes to everybody, and talks to 
everybody, and knows everybody, and he don't care to 
be anybody ; might have gone to the General Court, and 
would n't ; might have been President of the Doctors' 
Society in this district, and would n't ; might have been a 
professor in the college, and would n't ; said he would n't 
go anywhere nor do anything with the rest of the people, 
because everybody was so ' damnably corrupt ' that he 
did n't want to have anything to do with them. Excuse 



200 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

me, Mr. Howe, but that 's just what he said, one evening, 
this very winter, sitting on the counter over at the grocery. 
He said everybody out o' doors is corrupt ; I don't think 
he included himself. I could n't help thinking of your 
text, last fall, the Sunday before election : ' I thank God I 
am not as other men are.' VVa' n't that it, Mr. Howe } 
No, sir, he don't care a red for the schoolmaster's career. 
There 's a woman in the scrape, I think, Mr. Howe, and 
I should advise — " 

By this time they had reached Mr. Howe's door, and he 
urged his friend Jones to come in ; the subject had become 
interesting, and he felt sure that even Mrs. Howe, who had 
been rather shy of Jones, and had wondered at her hus- 
band's fondness for him, would be glad to hear what was 
to be said on this dawning social scandal. 

"A woman.? Who.? What.? Come in, come in, Mr. 
Jones. Mrs. Howe will be glad to see you, I am sure. I 
should really be sorry to have the adjustment of domestic 
difficulties added to all my numerous and arduous parochial 
duties. But come in." 

They entered the house and found Mrs. Howe in the 
cheerful and refined-looking little parlor, reading as usual. 
She had been revelling in the impassioned pages of Jane 
Eyre,- and had been wrought by the experiences of that 
remarkable character into a sense of universal sympathy 
with every sentimental impulse in the world. She was 
glad to see her husband, but she was not quite so glad to 
see Mr. William Jones ; and it was with considerable fear 
and trembling that she discovered the eager and earnest 
conference of the two gentlemen, and observed the cordial 
and somewhat deferential manner in which Mr. Howe 
ushered his companion into the room, and provided him 
with a chair. When they were all comfortably seated, and 
Mrs. Howe had made the usual inquiries with regard to 
the weather, the Club, and the people, Mr. Howe resumed 



THE HAY CROP. 20I 

the conversation which had been abruptly broken oft' by 
the arrival at his house. He gave his wife a little account 
of what had been going on ; of the curious manifestation 
of ill-feeling by Dr. Parker ; of the Schoolmaster's self- 
possession ; of Mr. Jones's views of the Doctor's character, 
and of the idea of the case he was expressing just as they 
entered the house. Mrs. Howe found herself suddenly 
interested in the matter ; and she forgot her instinctive 
dislike to Mr. Jones, as she listened to his spirited and 
graphic account of what he had seen for some months past, 
relating to Clara Bell and her two lovers. He had evi- 
dently been all eyes and ears in the matter ; had shrewdly 
observed the by-play on the drive to the seaside ; had 
witnessed the Doctor's quiet attentions ; and had discov- 
ered the Schoolmaster's chagrin. His talk was certainly 
vigorous and expressive enough. It was quite remarkable 
how much this shrewd and observing man had seen. It 
was still more remarkable with what skill he made up what 
he had not seen, which could in any way complete his 
narrative or establish his theory. In his curious mingling 
of philosophy and common-sense, of icy observation and 
ardent feeling, of knowledge of the world and ignorance of 
those sensibilities which a wore]/ or a look may wound, he 
quite amazed Mr. Howe and quite modified the opinions 
of his wife with regard to himself His description of 
Dr. Parker was so novel and unexpected, that Mrs. Howe 
became as interested in the Doctor as she had been in 
Rochester, whose masterly powers and majestic impulses 
had charmed Jane Eyre and herself. Mr. Howe could not 
conceive how so much fire could be pent up in so small a 
parish, and he was quite at a loss to comprehend how one 
of his lambs could be so torn and tossed as Mr. Jones 
represented Clara Bell to be, without seeking refuge in his 
bosom. He did not know how ignorant and how innocent 
Clara Bell was ; and he took it for granted that she needed 



2G2 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

counsel and succor in the trying events and emotions 
through which he supposed she was passing. It was quite 
late when Mr. Jones left that little household, which was 
very much bewildered by his mixed talk on horse and 
humanity, and dazzled by his crude wit and his keen 
understanding. How he found out all he knew Mr. and 
Mrs. Howe could not imagine; and they were by no means 
averse to being trusted with the secrets of this important 
affair in the village ; in fact, they were proud to feel that 
he could intrust them with matters of so great importance. 

The silence which followed the departure of Mr. Jones 
was oppressive and embarrassing. The story he had told 
had a dangerous charm, which the minister and his wife 
fully realized ; and they were alternately sorry and glad 
that they had heard it. They really did not believe more 
than half of it, as it had been told them; yet it was such a 
charming incident in a quiet country village ! Mr. Howe 
had become thoroughly accustomed to the commonplace 
rejoicings of weddings, and the gloomy and heart-breaking 
solemnity of funerals ; and it must be confessed that he 
felt uncommonly quickened by the prospect of a compli- 
cated affair of the heart, in which the sweetest rose in his 
parochial garden was involved. 

"This is a very remarkable story, and Mr. Jones is a 
very remarkable and interesting man," said Mr. Howe, 
breaking the silence. 

" The story is curious, and Mr. Jones is a curiosity," said 
Mrs. Howe, who had already begun, in her own mind, to 
question the tale, and had a rising protest in her heart 
against receiving communications from such a source. 
She already hoped the matter would end here. 

Mr. Howe slept uneasily under the weight of responsi- 
bihty which Mr. Jones had put upon him. He discussed 
the matter no more, however, in his own house ; but hav- 
ing set matters in order in the morning, he repaired to Mr. 



THE HAY CROP. 203 

Hopkins's, to arrange, as he said, for the next meeting of 
the Ckib. He found that gentleman having just risen 
from his breakfast-table, where he had endeavored to enjoy 
his solitary meal, and sitting before that never-fading wood- 
fire, which cheered from morning till night that ample 
apartment, used now as both drawing-room and library, 
bedecked with his dressing-gown and slippers ; for, since 
Mr. Hopkins had left the city with its courtesies and re- 
straints, and had taken up his abode alone in the freedom 
of the country, he had introduced into his library, and even 
into his dining-room, these articles of dress, which are 
intended for the chamber and the dressing-room alone. 

The President was glad to see the minister, ofiered him 
an easy-chair by the fire, and, as usual, extended to him 
the courtesy of a cigar. The President was reading a 
volume of the Diary and Letters of Madame d'Arblay, 
which had been sent from London by Mr. Everett to Mr. 
Webster, of whom Mr. Hopkins was a warm admirer and 
supporter ; and who had forwarded the volume to his old 
friend in the country, " with the hope that its cheerful and 
chatty pages might enliven his agricultural hours." He 
had just reached that touching passage in which Mrs. 
Williams gives an account of the first attack of paralysis 
which fell upon the great Dr. Johnson. " It was about 
four o'clock in the morning ; he found himself with a para- 
lytic affection ; he rose and composed in his own mind a 
Latin prayer to the Almighty, that whatever were the 
sufferings for which he must prepare himself, it would 
please him, through the grace and mediation of our blessed 
Saviour, to spare his intellect, and let them all fall upon 
his body. When he had composed this, internally, he en- 
deavored to speak it aloud, but found his voice was gone." 
Mr. Hopkins was very much impressed by the majesty and 
repose of the great man in this trying hour ; and he en- 
larged to Mr. Howe upon the value of a great faith and a 



204 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

consciousness of having lived a life of honest purpose, to 
support man in the last and most momentous scene. He 
referred most tenderly to his wife and children who were 
gone, and brought out from their sacred seclusion the me- 
mentos which he had preserved of them, and with which 
for years he had held almost daily communion. His con- 
versation was a surprise to the minister, who, having re- 
cently left the flippant and cunning talk of one man of 
business, was not prepared to hear such refined and ele- 
vated sentiments from another. It was by natural grada- 
tions that Mr. Hopkins passed from his family to his 
ancestors, from his ancestors to his farm, and from his 
farm to the Club. And the two gentlemen found them- 
selves rehearsing the meeting of the evening previous, 
and discoursing especially on the curious conduct of Dr. 
Parker. 

Mr. Hopkins had noticed it, but, with the caution and 
courtesy of a cultivated man of affairs, he had paid but 
little attention to it ; had said nothing about it ; and had 
set it aside as a matter with which he had no concern, and 
which he was not called upon to discuss. He sat back in 
his ample arm-chair, therefore, and dreamily smoked his 
cigar, while Mr. Howe repeated the story given him by 
William Jones. It interested Mr. Hopkins deeply. He 
recalled his own experience beneath the moonlight shadows 
of the groves about him even now, and the joys and sor- 
rows of his life rushed over him as he listened to a simple 
tale of village love, and realized that all there is of human 
happiness was involved in the result. He did not exactly 
understand Mr. Howe's desperate and energetic determi- 
nation in the matter, and he was quite surprised when the 
minister said to him : — 

'* I think it a duty I owe the members of my parish who 
are involved in this affair, which seems to threaten the 
happiness of one or all of them, to lead them through the 



THE HAY CROP. 205 

dark path they are now traversing. Clara Bell I have 
known too well to allow her to sacrifice herself to anybody. 
Dr. Parker I understand thoroughly, I think, and I am 
sure he ought not to jeopardize the happiness of any 
young person to gratify what must be a fleeting passion on 
his part. Charles Ingalls is too young to decide such 
matters for himself, and ought to be warned that his 
promise is too brilliant to be endangered by a youthful 
alliance, of which, when he reaches distinction and fame, 
he may repent. The interesting account I have received 
from Mr. Jones has led me to feel strongly my duty in this 
matter ; and I feel also that I must extricate these persons 
from the difficulty in which they are so unhappily involved. 
The sagacity of Mr. Jones in this matter has amazed me. 
While you and I, Mr. Hopkins, have blindly allowed these 
three friends of ours to wander into an almost inextricable 
maze of trouble, he has discovered all, and when the first 
and faintest ill effect shows itself, as it did in Dr. Parker's 
rudeness at the Club last night, he is ready with his 
warning, and really understands us and our duties better 
than we do ourselves. He is a wonderful man, this Mr. 
Jones. Even Mrs. Howe, who disliked him exceedingly 
at first, has begun to discover his good qualities and his 
remarkable faculties. And I think you will agree with 
me, Mr. Hopkins, that I ought to follow his advice, and 
call upon the lovely Clara Bell to lean upon me in this 
hour of her trial, and to give Dr. Parker and the School- 
master that counsel and advice which they evidently 
need." 

" Stop one minute," said Mr. Hopkins. " This affair 
will work itself out, Mr. Plowe, if you will only let it alone. 
In the first place, I am satisfied that Clara Bell is entirely 
ignorant of the conflict going on between Dr. Parker and 
the Schoolmaster. I know her well, — have seen her al- 
most every day since her father was taken sick and has 



2o6 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

depended upon us for aid, — and I know that she looks 
upon Dr. Parker as a guardian only whom she is bound to 
obey, and upon Charles Ingalls as more than a brother, 
but a brother still. I think I am right in this. Dr. Par- 
ker knows very well that he cannot and ought not to 
expose her to the trials of his eccentric life ; but he is 
annoyed at the same time that any man should set his 
affections on her whom he considers to be quite his 
own. Charles Ingalls is fretting about nothing ; and if he 
had half the sense in this matter that he has in the dis- 
charge of his duty, he would quietly return to his cus- 
tomary walks in this village, and treat the Bell family as 
he does all others. You see, my dear friend, I have not 
been blind or unobservant as I have associated with my 
neighbors here. I know all about the seaside drive, last 
summer, — all about the follies and mistakes of Dr. Parker. 
But I have looked upon all this silently, and with that 
confidence in a good result which grows out of a capacity 
to consider passing events at their precise significance, 
and not as the stock in trade of a gossip or a mischief- 
maker. I have seen as much as Jones, and have under- 
stood it better. 

" And now a word with regard to Jones. You know 
what he is as well as I do, — a talkative, reckless, shrewd, 
unprincipled fellow, who makes himself agreeable and 
entertaining by his audacity, and wins his way by an 
apparent regard for all the superior persons with whom he 
associates. I have no prejudice against him, but I should 
not select him as a partner, or agent, or confidential clerk ; 
and. you ought not to select him as a companion in any 
respect. It must be that you are ignorant of the ways of 
the world, and of the immorality in it, or you would never 
admit to your confidence such men as you do. I remem- 
ber well how my old grandfather, the last clergyman of 
our family in this parish, allowed himself to be misled by 



THE HAY CROP. 207 

the apparent liberality and generosity of an unprincipled 
knave, whose very lineaments he would have thoroughly 
understood had he frequented the busy walks of life a little 
more, and devoted himself to his library and his duties 
with the families of his parish a little less. You may de- 
pend upon it, a rogue can have nothing worth conferring 
upon an honest man. The intimacy of a minister of the 
Church of Christ with a graceless and reckless man of the 
world is as unnatural as would be that of ' Christ with 
Belial.' No good can possibly come of it. And I am 
amazed to see how you are charmed by certain glittering 
qualities, which with you mean chivalry and devotion, and 
with us mean a selfish and heartless display of impulse. 
I find no fault with this, because underneath it all I see a 
kind and forgiving spirit, a faith in humanity, a belief in 
the divine essence of man, an entire superiority to the low 
and grovelling designs of intriguers and deceivers, without 
which the clergyman would be so waywise and so worldly 
that we should assign him his place in the market, and 
not in the pulpit or at the bedside of the dying. I do not 
blame a pure-minded minister of the gospel for being 
deceived, but I do despise the knave who deceives him. 
Now, Jones is not a fit man for you to make a confidant 
of. He has neither your faith, nor your purity of purpose, 
nor your sentiment, nor your sense of honor, nor your 
appreciation of the mysterious workings of the human 
breast, nor your affection for the suffering heart of man ; 
nor has he any knowledge of the relations established by a 
common belief, and a common love for divine truth. Why, 
then, should you take him to your bosom .-' He may enter- 
tain you, but you should never submit yourself to him. 
John Thomas you can trust. His sturdy and homely qual- 
ities, which would prevent him from intruding upon your 
duties, are just the support which you need, — a support 
which, when real trouble comes, you will find of true value. 



2o8 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

So long as it is your business to rebuke evil, you cannot 
afifiiliate with it. You may forgive it, but you cannot 
make a refuge for it in your own sanctuary, without in the 
end destroying that holy place and demoralizing yourself. 
Look out for Jones, and take the advice of your wife. 

" As for Jones's story, let us forget it. As I said in the 
beginning, this thing will work itself out, and we had bet- 
ter let it alone. Now, excuse this long sermon ; tell Jones 
to hold his tongue ; give my regards to Mrs. Howe ; and 
let us prepare for the next meeting of the Club. I think 
we had better do a little raking after, and, if there are any 
points left, clean up what there is of the hay crop." 

To this Mr. Howe agreed without further debate. He 
knew that Mr. Hopkins was right, and glad enough was 
he to drop the matter of social disturbance where the 
retired merchant left it, and return to the business of the 
Club. 

At the next meeting, which assembled in full numbers at 
the usual place, the discussion opened with a general re- 
view of the points laid down by the speakers of the previous 
evening, and with a general agreement in the sentiments 
and opinions then expressed. In the course of the even- 
ing John Thomas said he hoped the time would come 
when we in this country would understand the stacking of 
hay better than we now do. He could not get a well- 
shaped and perfect stack on his farm, — a stack which 
looked well and shed the water thoroughly. " We compel 
ourselves," said he, " to use too much roofing in this coun- 
try. And there is no reason why hay properly packed in 
stacks should not be kept in better order than when con- 
fined within the four walls of a building, and exposed to 
all the effluvia which gather there." He had been obliged 
to leave more than fifty tons of hay of various qualities out 
of doors for the last two or three years, and he would be 
glad to see as perfect a stack constructed in this country 



THE HAY CROP. 209 

as can be found in the old country, where, he understood, 
the packing, ventilating, salting, and thatching of a hay- 
stack are brought to as great a degree of perfection as the 
erection of a building. 

Peter Ilsley said : " I agree for once with all that John 
Thomas has said. I like a perfect haystack. It is an 
economical way of keeping hay ; it saves a great deal of 
hauling in the haying season, if your mowing land is far 
away from your barns ; and it looks as if the man who 
made it had an eye to good farming, and a knowledge 
how to do it. So I go for stacks, and good-looking ones. 
I have lost a great deal of hay from bad stacking, and I 
should be glad to know that I should not be obliged to 
lose any more. But I want to say a word about salting 
hay. I learned from the English books on farming that 
the salting of hay at the time of packing has been largely 
practised there. Sinclair says : ' The salt, particularly 
when applied to the second crop of clover, or when the 
crop has received much rain, checks the fermentation and 
prevents moulding. If straw be mixed with the hay the 
heating of the stack is still further prevented, by the straw 
imbibing the moisture. Cattle will eat not only such salted 
hay, but even the straw mixed with it, more eagerly than 
better hay not salted, and also thrive as well on it. The 
quantity recommended is a peck of ground rock salt to a 
ton of hay. In consequence of being thus treated, hay that 
has been flooded was preferred by cattle to the best hay 
that had not been salted.' I agree with this old English- 
man, and like a little salt on my hay." 

Phineas Barnes put in a plea for good haying machinery. 
He thought mowing and spreading and raking and cocking 
had never been so well done as when the scythe and fork 
and hand-rake were used by strong and skilful workmen. 
The mowing-machines, he was aware, were becoming very 
perfect, and they undoubtedly save not only the time of 
14 



2IO THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

workmen, but considerable of the crop. But he had seen 
no such perfect hay, no such exact windrows and cocks, no 
such clean fields, as he used to see when the hand-rake 
and fork were in use. He had repaired a good many 
horse-rakes and tedders in his shop ; and he thought there 
was great ground for improvement in them still. 

John Thomas took the floor again, and called the atten- 
tion of the Club to the fall-feeding of mowing lands. " I 
am sure," said he, " that I cannot lose my second crop of 
hay by letting it perish on the ground. I have read many 
essays and heard many remarks against the practice of 
fall-feeding ; but I cannot carry on my farm without it. 
There are six or seven weeks in the fall of the year when I 
must feed my cattle somewhere. I cannot afford to feed 
out my hay at that time of the year, and I cannot find 
grass enough in my pastures to keep my cattle in good 
condition, or to keep my cows in milk. I feed my mowing 
lands, therefore, and cultivate them accordingly. I do not 
pretend that I can keep my fields in grass as many years 
when I feed them in the fall as when I do not. But I am 
willing to overcome this difficulty by more frequent plough- 
ing and seeding, because I am sure that, in the long run, I 
make more than enough to pay the expense of this opera- 
tion. I feed my mowing lands pretty close in the fall ; 
and on this account I make it a rule not to top-dress those 
lands. I am satisfied that you can top-dress lands which 
are not fed to advantage ; but I am also satisfied that top- 
dressing, applied to lands which are fed, is nearly wasted. 
The effect of the manure thus applied is not sufficient to 
counteract the destruction of the grass by the cattle. And 
the only proper and satisfactory mode of applying manure 
to lands thus fed is with frequent ploughing and seeding. 
If I were raising hay for the market, and had a supply of 
manure independent of my barn-yard, such as sea manure, 
fish composts, ashes, etc., I should never fall-feed. And I 



THE HAY CROP. 211 

should expect in this way to get an annual crop of hay 
from my fields for many successive years. But I do not 
call this profitable farming, as a general rule, and believing 
as I do in cattle, I believe also in feednig them on our 
mowing lands in the autumn." 

No one in the Club seemed disposed to question the 
soundness of Mr. Thomas's statement ; and after a few 
general remarks on agriculture, and a lively talk upon 
town and State affairs generally, the Club adjourned in 
the best of humor, evidently feeling that the dark cloud 
was overblown. Even Mr. Howe saw daylight, and re- 
joiced in the wisdom of Mrs. Howe and Mr. Hopkins. 
Meanv\^hile, the physician practised, the schoolmaster 
taught, and Clara took care of her father, "all uncon- 
scious of the mischief done." 



212 



THE FARM- YARD CLUB OF JO 1 HAM. 



FIFTEENTH MEETING. 



PASTURE LANDS. 



SQUIRE WRIGHT ENTERS THE FIELD. — FANNY RETURNS A WIDOW. 
— THE WESTERN LIFE. 

Squire WRIGHT had returned to Jotham. It was 
his modest and unadorned Httle office, standing beneath a 
towering ehri on one side of the village green, which had 
been the resort of all those desiring and needing legal 

advice for nearly 
forty years. 
" Henry Wright, 
Attorney at 
Law," over the 
front door, and 
" H. Wright's 
Office," round 
the corner, were 
the two signs 
which had been 
familiar to more 
than one genera- 
tion of the peo- 
ple of the village, 
and had been 
read with inter- 
est by many succeeding crowds of wrathful litigants. The 
scanty library within contained all the legal lore necessary 
for that neighborhood ; the overloaded and chaotic table 
was piled with the written documentary history of every 




SQUIRE WRIGHT. 



PASTURE LANDS. 



213 



variety of legal controversy ; the worn and chipped and 
dilapidated wooden arm-chairs with well-shaped bottoms, 
and backs of just the height and angle, invited to long and 
lazy sittings ; the old Franklin stove, with its cast-iron 
firedogs, and undisturbed bed of ashes, and polished and 
well-worn corners, told of many a tale of quiet and drowsy 
conference, with chairs atilt and feet aloft ; and the dusty 
and uneven floor, swept only by the Squire himself, bade 
all incomers remember that no domestic tidiness was ever 
allowed to interfere with the official proprieties of that 




SQUIRE WRIGHT S OFFICE. 

sacred room. In winter, when the door was shut and the 
smoke was pouring from the chimney, all the uninitiated 
passers-by were filled with a bewitching idea of the com- 
fort of that one-ideaed edifice ; and in the warm summer 
days, when the door was open, they peered in upon the 
judicial presence of that great legal authority seated within, 
and enrobed with a loose and flowing summer gown of 
calico, with a feeling of awe and veneration. The place 



2 14 THE FARM- YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

was at all times such a charming temple of easy law and 
genteel loafing, that even lawsuits had their bright side, 
and idleness was made respectable. The Squire was not 
a great jury lawyer, nor was he ingenious in the work of 
getting his clients into scrapes and then getting them out ; 
but he was a great referee, a powerful pacificator. He was 
not a very busy man about the court-house, but the reg- 
istry of deeds was full of titles accurately adjusted by him, 
and the registry of probate was full of wills which he had 
drawn up so that the testators were prevented from the sin 
and injustice of gratifying either ambition, or passion, or 
prejudice, in the final disposition of their estates, and went 
to heaven hand in hand with justice and fairness, at any 
rate, and with such recorded desire that the heirs understood 
each his exact right and proportion. Many a divorce case 
he heard sitting there " in chambers " ; and many a " united 
and happy family " went out from the hearings. Many a 
disputed account was adjusted there, and many a domestic 
broil was hushed, to break out no more. It was with 
peculiar respect and regard that Squire Wright was looked 
upon by the people. They said he had great sagacity, — 
because he always avoided controversy. They sent him to 
the General Court, year after year, because he was liberal 
and cool-headed, and respected both parties, and never 
went to caucuses. They made him a county commis- 
sioner, because his honest purpose gave weight to his 
decisions and secured acquiescence even from the disap- 
pointed ; they sent him to the State Senate, because he 
knew all about the wants of his district ; they placed him 
on the Executive Council, because he was very much like 
the governor. He belonged to an era of good feeling, and 
was a useful magistrate in every sense of the word. And 
he always rejoiced that when violent and revolutionary 
questions arose, he could urge upon his people that they 
love their country and live together like brethren, confident 



PASTURE LANDS. 21$ 

that the great social and civil problems would settle them- 
selves without his aid. He was evidently impressed with 
the idea that some kinds of people were born to rule, and 
other kinds were born to obey, although he never said so ; 
and he was somewhat in the habit of claiming for the 
former all the virtue, and ascribing to the latter all the 
wickedness of society. But he did not care to discuss this 
question. To him a woman was a woman, and a criminal 
was a criminal, and William Jones was William Jones ; 
there was no door opening into his heart through which 
a ro"-ue could pass, no amount of sentiment sufficient to 
make a mistake tolerable. He liked the Rev. Mr. Howe 
for his faith, and he wondered at his gentle weaknesses. 
He admired Dr. Parker for his knowledge, but he was 
vexed by his eccentric and self-indulgent habits. He fan- 
cied the Schoolmaster, because he was bright and indusr 
trious, and intended to be a lawyer. He respected Mr. 
Hopkins, because he was courtly and rich and honest. 

Squire Wright had been absent from Jotham for many 
months. It so happened that about the time of Mr. Hop- 
kins's return to his native town the Squire was employed 
by many of his neighbors who had invested a portion of 
their small capital in wild Western lands, and who were 
beginning to fear that both their investment and their 
titles were poor, to take the matter into his own hands, 
and extricate them from their difficulties. The work had 
been long and tedious, and month after month was the 
little office closed ; no summer breeze stole in at the win- 
dow and tossed the legal papers over the dusty floor ; no 
smoke curled from the chimney on the hard winter morn- 
ings, to tell of the life and warmth and comfort below. In 
fact, Mr. Wright had been obliged to take up his abode in 
the remote West.. He stationed himself in a new, muddy, 
sprawUng, dismal Western town, where he worked for his 
clients and sighed for his neat New England home. It 



2l6 



THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 



was to this town that his daughter Fanny went with the 
young minister whom she married ; in fact, it was through 
Mr. Wright's influence that the parish was offered to 
Fanny's husband immediately on his graduation. The 
circumstances of the affair were all deemed fortunate, — 
the investment of the people in those doubtful lands, 
the employment of Squire Wright in the investigation, 
the engagement of the lovely Fanny to the minister, the 
wants of that young and rising Western parish, the set- 
tlement, the chances which attended the growing town, 




A WESTKRN TOWN. 



— all seemed to conspire to give the family of the Squire 
unusual good fortune. But trouble and disappointment 
came apace. The young minister broke down under the 
influences of the climate ; the malaria was too much for 
him ; he was fretted by the ragged edge of society there ; 
he was too sensitive for the rough vitality of border-life ; 
and he died after a few months of exhausting and unsatis- 
factory toil. Fanny was shocked and broken-hearted by 



PASTURE LANDS. 2 I "J 

the sudden calamity ; and when, the father being dead, her 
boy was born, she felt that she had travelled the full circle 
of life, had grown old before her prime, and was left to toil 
for years along that road, which to the aged is but a step 
into the joy and repose of heaven. Pier brother, a sturdy 
lad, who had accompanied his father to the West, lost his 
health entirely through exposure in the forests and river- 
bottoms, which he was called on to explore ; her mother 
grew rapidly old under the weight of care and anxiety, 
which she bore with sublime matronly courage ; and her 
father, calm and self-possessed as he was, alone preserved 
himself superior to all the adverse influences about him. 
It was in this condition of himself and his family that 
Squire Wright summarily finished the work given him by 
his clients, and returned to Jotham. It was midwinter, it 
is true, when he and his reached their old home ; but it 
was a New England winter, with its clear, cold, invigo- 
rating atmosphere ; it was a New England home, with its 
ample provisions for winter comfort and enjoyment ; and 
it was upon Mrs. Wright, an accomplished New England 
matron and housekeeper, that the business of arranging 
that home for the various inmates fell. Under her direc- 
tion the "best chamber" was soon ready for Fanny and 
her boy ; a comfortable room was prepared for the lan- 
guishing son ; the parental bedroom was rapidly put in 
order ; and a reinstated family looked about them, and from 
one to another, to see if the absence was a dream. The 
sorrow-stricken mother and the little child, and the pallid 
cheek of that once stalwart and ruddy boy, told the story. 
But Mrs. Wright resumed her domestic duties, and the 
Squire unlocked his office, and the smoke rose from the 
little chimney. They were all back in Jotham. 

"I do so w^ant to see Fanny and her bov," said Clara 
Bell. 

" I rejoice in Mrs. Wright's return," said Mrs. Howe. 



2l8 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

" Now, Fanny will take her place again in the choir and 
the Sunday school," said Mr. Howe. 

" I shall be very glad to renew my old acquaintance 
with Mr. Wright. I have n't seen him for years/' said Mr. 
Hopkins. 

" I hope the Squire has forgotten that old horse case," 
said William Jones. 

" I wonder whether Squire Wright will take a student 
into his office next autumn," said the Schoolmaster. 

•' We '11 get the Squire to join the Club," said John 
Thomas. 

" He used to know a good cow from a poor one," said 
Peter Ilsley. 

" If he has brought back the money I wasted in those 
infernal Western lands, I '11 shoe his horse for nothing as 
long as he lives," said Phineas Barnes. 

It was in the midst of the rejoicings and congratulations 
and sympathy, on the return of Squire Wright and his 
family, that Mr. Howe and John Thomas set themselves 
to work to prepare for the next meeting of the Club. They 
concluded that the hay crop had been discussed enough, 
and that all the theories about the value of meadow hay 
and salt hay had been settled long ago by the cattle them- 
selves, both of which can be made to answer a very good 
purpose when accompanied by meal and turnips, and 
either of which, when fed alone, is mere "vanity and vexa- 
tion of spirit." They determined, therefore, that next in 
importance to the winter feeding of animals is their supply 
of food in the pasture during the summer months ; and 
they sent word to the President and the members of the 
Club that the next subject for discussion would be 

PASTURE LANDS. 

The hope and expectation of seeing Squire Wi-ight 
brought out a very full attendance at the Club, and when 



PASTURE LANDS. 219 

President Hopkins called it to order and announced the 
subject, he congratulated the assembly on the interest they 
manifested in the institution from which they had all de- 
rived so much pleasure and profit, and continued : — 

It is possible that you have come in unusual numbers, this 
evening, hoping to see your old townsman who has been so 
long absent from among you, and whose return is so welcome 
to us all. I have not had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Wright 
since I established myself here, his departure for the West 
having occurred about the time that I left Boston. But I am, 
of course, familiar with his standing and reputation in this com- 
munity, and I rejoice with yon that so valuable a citizen has 
returned to share with us the duties and responsibilities of 
society. I have noticed that mankind is naturally disposed to 
extend the right hand of fellowship to all, who, by reason of 
valuable service or prolonged separation, become objects of 
interest. It is no great matter, I know, for one of us to leave 
this town for business or pleasure. Nor is it any great matter 
when we return. But the ovation extended to a citizen of a 
free and independent municipality like ours, by those who are 
his equals in all things, his friends in private, his constituents 
in public life, his rivals and competitors in the race for honors 
and position, has a significance and meaning not to be found in 
the prouder and more imposing ceremonies which are bestowed 
upon the great and the powerful. K fellows-citizen, in whom 
we have placed implicit confidence, whom we have intrusted 
with the creation of the laws under which we live, who has 
devoted himself to the care of all those institutions which 
constitute the foundation of free societ}^, who has been our 
counsellor and friend, returns to resume his duties here. Not 
for his influence or his patronage, not for his power or distinc- 
tion, not for his superior position in state and society, do we 
receive him with open arms and such manifestations of respect 
and esteem as lie in our power ; but because he is one of us 
and represents in his person all the opportunity and position 
which every man here believes to be his right and privilege. 



220 THE FARM- YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

A body of citizens receiving a fellow-citizen, — how in contrast 
with a body of tenants receiving a landlord, or of subjects 
receiving a ruler and master ! For one, I like to be a mem- 
ber of a small community, knowing every man and known of 
all, my joys and sorrows made the common joys and sorrows 
of all. A fellow-feeling filling a whole community is a great 
thino- to enjoy in an emergency, and grows out of a broad 
and generous humanity which can wade through seas of gossip 
and petty jealousy and come out dry shod on the other side, 
and ready for any event and trial. It gives me pleasure now 
to nominate Henry Wright, Esq., as a member of this Club, 
and unless objections are raised, I shall consider him unani- 
mously elected, and I will announce to you that he will be with 
us towards the close of the evening. [Prolonged applause.] 

And now for the subject we are called upon to consider. 
The committee has notified us that we would discuss the " Im- 
provement of Pasture Lands," as part of the business of sup- 
porting our domestic animals on our farms. The importance 
of the question no man can doubt. From the middle of May 
to the middle of November, even in this northern latitude, we 
can feed our cattle upon grazing lands of one kind or another, 
and during these six months we can secure a large amount of 
the profit to be derived from cattle-husbandry, either in the 
dairy or in the stall. It is very necessary, therefore, that the 
lands used for this purpose should be economically purchased, 
economically preserved in good condition, and economically 
restored when run out and exhausted. It is usually calculated 
that it requires four acres of good pasture to feed a cow during 
the pasturing season. And I have no doubt this is a fair esti- 
mate. The price paid for such land, devoted to such a pur- 
pose, must necessarily be small, and the annual outlay upon it 
must be small also. 

Now I must confess to you that, in reclaiming the farm 
which I now occupy, I have been more troubled by my pastures 
than by any other land which I possess. I have been able to 
restore the old cornfields by ploughing and fertilizing, and 
have conceived that I found my profit in an immediate crop. 



PASTURE LANDS. 221 

I have brought up my exhausted mowing lands, from a yield 
of half a ton to the acre to a yield of three tons, and 1 am sure 
I found my reward in the increased crop. But when I turned 
my attention to the old pastures, overgrown with bushes and 
covered with moss, I must confess I began to despair of e\er 
accomplishing anything either creditable or profitable, — any- 
thing wliich 1 could recommend as worthy of imitation. I began, 
of course, by cutting off the bushes ; everybody does that. But 
when they were gone, I had nothing but a poor starved pasture 
left, a pasture which long cropping and repeated growths of 
trees and shrubs had entirely impoverished and exhausted. 
Why I should have expected land upon which an oak or a pine 
tree would starve, to produce a good crop of pasture grass, 1 
cannot tell. I certainly had no right to expect any such thing. 
I tried ploughing, but I soon found that ploughing poor land is 
poor business, and that it required more manure to fertilize an 
old worn-out pasture, acre for acre, than it did to bring the 
barren tillage lands into a fair degree of fertility. I have made 
my pastures look respectably, but I have not yet brought them 
into a satisfactory condition ; and I shall be much obliged to 
the members of the Club if they will throw light upon this sub- 
ject, either from their experience or their observation. 

John Thomas, beino; called upon to follow the President, 
said : " I agree with Mr. Hopkins that the question before 
us is a hard one. It will never do to spend much money 
on an acre of land used for pasturage. I have worked 
more or less on my pastures for many years, and I have 
come to the conclusion that time and patience are as valu- 
able in this business as money, perhaps more so. I have 
learned that all useless plants should be cleared out of a 
pasture as the first step in its renovation. If the work 
cannot be done in one year, take two ; and if two are not 
enough, take three. At any rate, use the scythe and fire, 
year after year, until the work is done. Few vegetable 
growths can stand repeated attacks like these. The nox- 
ious plants will inevitably be destroyed ; and when they 



222 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

are gone, the chances are ten to one that the nutritious 
grasses will grow and thrive. I have always believed that 
land would recuperate itself, if allowed to rest. And in 
this I have not yet been disappointed. When clearing my 
pastures, I have been very careful not to overstock them ; 
and I have been surprised to see how rapidly the amount 
of grass would increase and how its quality would improve 
from year to year. This process is slow, I grant, but it is 
sure. And I can show you pastures capable of carrying a 
large cow on three acres through the season, which, ten 
years ago, would hardly carry such a cow on ten acres, if 
it would feed her at all. I keep my pastures clean, and I 
feed them moderately until they get a heavy growth of 
grass, and then I increase my number of cattle, and for a 
year or two feed pretty close. I think pastures may be 
injured by too little as well as too much feeding, for I have 
often noticed that short, sweet grass is more nutritious, as 
well as more palatable, than that which is rank and heavy ; 
and I am sure, also, that unless properly fed, pastures may 
become filled with useless grasses which the cattle will not 
eat, and which drive out the better grasses, and are more 
difficult to get rid of than barberry-bushes or Canada 
thistles." 

Peter Ilsley had no doubt that the plan of John Thomas 
was a good one for his land. " But," said he, " I find that 
I cannot bring my pastures to with time and patience at 
all. I have no ' ferns,' or ' brakes,' or barberry-bushes, 
or Canada thistles to fight. I am not troubled with 
huckleberry-bushes or bayberry. Trees don't grow on 
my pastures. They are smooth enough, Heaven knows. 
And I never have to feed them close to keep out the poor 
grasses. But they are covered with a dry, crackling moss, 
which takes the place of grass, bushes, and everything else. 
Now it is of no use to wait for this stuff to go off; for it 
will not go of its own accord. And so I am obliged to stir 



PASTURE LAA'DS. 223 

up the land somehow or other, and make the grass grow 
where the moss has got possession. Land may recuperate 
itself, as Mr. Thomas says ; but I think that land which 
will grow but little grass and no bushes, and a great deal 
of moss, has lost the power of recuperating itself, and needs 
help of some kind. Such land as this needs manure of 
some sort, and must have it. You must fertilize it with 
something, and in some way, if you ever expect to make a 
decent pasture out of it. You must either plough and 
manure it or top dress it. Now, I am not much in favor 
of ploughing a pasture. If ploughed at all, it should be for 
the purpose of cropping and cultivating for corn or pota- 
toes or grain or root crops ; and then it passes out of the 
list of pasture land and becomes tillage land, and should 
be so classed and used. If the pasture is large, and is so 
far away as to make it fit for pasturage only, you cannot 
plough it with profit or advantage. For instance, I have a 
fifty-acre pasture, a mile from my house, — a hill pasture, 
free from bushes, with hardly a tree in it. It is useless for 
me to try to plough such a pasture as this. It cannot be 
done. And if it could, I am not sure that this is the best 
way to improve it. Mr. Thomas is right when he says the 
natural grasses should be brought in if you can do it. 
Now this cannot be done by ploughing. You can get 
them out with the plough, but you cannot get them in. 
For when you have ploughed, and manured, and seeded, 
you have only the artificial grasses, such as herds-grass, 
which hard croppings and frost will always kill in the long 
run, and redtop, which easily dies out, and clover, which 
will not last more than two or three years at the longest. 
And so I have seen a small pasture lot ploughed and ma- 
nured and cropped, and seeded to various kinds of grasses, 
but the crops were poor and the grasses which were seeded 
into it did not come to much. It made a poor pasture, 
after all, and it never approached being a good one until 



224 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

the natural grasses had come in and driven the artificial 
grasses out. I have two pieces of land, several miles away, 
which I use for pasturage. One of them has been culti- 
vated for many years ; the other has never been cultivated 
at all. The cultivated lot has, every year, the most grass ; 
but the other has the best feed, and my cattle and horses 
always thrive best there. Why this is I cannot tell. But 
the cattle know it, and that is enough. I do not think, 
therefore, we can ever expect to make good pasture lands 
by using the plough. On a large scale we cannot afford 
to do it ; and on a small one, even, we cannot always de- 
pend upon it. And so, I suppose, we must use top-dress- 
ing ; and use such as we find most useful for the land we 
would restore. 

" Now, for me, plaster is the best top-dressing that I can 
use. I have used it freely for thirty years, and where I 
have used it most my pastures are the best. I do not 
think it works very well on light sandy lands or on 
gravelly knolls ; but on all the clayey hills and springy 
lands on my farm I can use plaster with great benefit. It 
seems to warm and sweeten the land, and brings into it a 
great deal of white clover. Where plaster does not answer, 
we must resort to something else, always remembering that 
top-dressing is the best thing to do. Let me read what a 
gentleman in Franklin County did with one of his pastures. 
He says: "In the first place, I removed all obnoxious 
vegetation ; I made a clean thing of it. It cost me a good 
deal of labor, but when it was brushed over it looked very 
smooth. I then took twenty bushels of ashes (the pasture 
covered fourteen acres), three quarters of a ton ot plaster, 
and eight bushels of hen manure, and composted them 
together. It lay some two or three weeks, and then I 
scattered it round the fourteen acres, broadcast. It had a 
very wonderful effect. I have continued the same dressing 
up to the present time. I began this operation seven years 



PASTURE LANDS. 225 

ago, when the pasture could only carry two cows ; and the 
season before the last I put in seven cows and three early 
spring calves, and had a very fine pasture. The last season 
I put in the same, but, in consequence of the severity of the 
drought, I removed two of the animals. But from the ex- 
perience I have had with this tract of land I think, if I am 
permitted to live three years, I can keep ten cows on this 
pasture, and that they will be able to fill themselves in two 
hours and lie down. I find that plaster alone will not 
answer my purpose on this land.' But, Mr. President, I 
am taking more than my share of the time." 

The Schoolmaster here took up the subject, and asked if 
the experiment of dressing the land with different soils and 
earths had ever been tried by any of the gentlemen present. 
He said he knew one instance in which a dry and some- 
what gravelly pasture had been brought into fine condition 
by the use of muck. He had seen it the year before, and 
the growth of grass upon it was abundant. He had also 
known of the application of clay to land covered with moss, 
and the effect was wonderful. It seemed to him that the 
rule was " almost anything for a change " ; and he sug- 
gested that clay, coal-ashes, wood-ashes, fish-guano, plaster, 
and lime should be used as a top-dressing on pasture lands 
which had been overfed and exhausted. That pastures 
should be kept free from bushes he could not doubt. He 
believed that some kinds of trees, such as the red-cedar 
and the locust, might be scattered over a pasture without 
harm, but not the bushes which usually spring up when 
the wood is cut off. But he would as soon expect to get a 
valuable crop from a weedy field as a good supply of sweet 
grass from a bushy pasture. 

At this point Squire Wright came in, and the Club ad- 
journed. He was most cordially and kindly received, and 
it was noticed that, while all his dignity remained, he had 
evidently been softened by the hard experience through 



226 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

which he had passed. He had lost none of the soundness 
of his head, while he had increased the warmth about his 
heart ; and he was pleased to say to Mr. Hopkins, at the 
close of the collation given by that gentleman in honor of 
his return, that he thought his presence in Jotham had 
vastly improved the character of the town. "At any rate," 
said he, " the place was wise and kind when I left it ; but 
now it is as warm and cordial as my old mother's hearth- 
stone." Mr. Hopkins, however, as he bade him "good 
night," thought the change was in him. 



PASTURE LANDS. 22/ 



SIXTEENTH MEETING. 

PASTURE LANDS (Continued). 

DR. PARKER DOES NOT UNDERSTAND CLARA BELL. — CHARLES 
INGALLS DOES. — THE SQUIRE FOUND TO BE FALLIBLE. 

If a family of strangers had moved into Jotham, they 
would not have been more an object of interest to the 
people there than were Squire Wright and his wife, his 
children and grandchild, on their return from the West, 
and their occupancy of the old mansion. In many respects 
they were themselves strangers, indeed ; for the subdued 
and sorrow-stricken and enfeebled, who had come back, 
were by no means the confident and vigorous group who 
went out. Fanny Wright (for nobody seemed to realize 
that she was Mrs. Ransom now) was remembered only as 
a tall and stately girl, erect as a forest pine, and so full of 
a sort of " lofty cheer," that she seemed to elevate and 
inspire all about her. She had married the young and 
delicate and handsome Rev. Perez Ransom, without any 
special knowledge of the " ecstasy of love," but because 
it seemed natural that any good girl should be glad to 
marry a minister, and because the bearing of the inexpe- 
rienced pastor towards her, even in the rosiest hours of 
their betrothal, was more that of a shepherd to one of 
the lambs of his flock, than of an impassioned lover to the 
object of his love. She had gone the entire radiant and 
glowing round of mistress, wife, and mother, without know- 
ing either the wisdom or the sweet delirium of love, and 
without realizing that there is any other motive than a 
sense of duty either on earth or in heaven. It had all 



228 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

been done before the yillage knew that it was fairly in- 
tended ; the few well-written sermons, some Sunday even- 
ing interviews, a sudden engagement, a marriage unex- 
pected, and the clean and proper young minister and his 
bright and beauteous bride were gone. What wonder, 
then, that Fanny's old companions, who were not a day 
older in spirit, and but little more than a twelvemonth in 
reality, should find it difficult to realize that she had re- 
turned a mother and a widow, — a mother whose first 
warm and glowing sentiment ever felt was for her child, 
a widow who remembered with the greatest pleasure the 
pious attributes of her departed husband ? What wonder 
that she herself was obliged to pause, now and then, and 
explain to herself how it was that her mother had become 
her intimate companion also, sharing with her a new and 
deeper life, and traversing with her profounder paths of 
knowledge ; why it was that she had left the sweet little 
chamber of her girlhood, and had become worthy to occupy 
the most well-ordered and imposing room of the house ; 
how it was that her father had added to his natural affection 
for her the tender veneration which he felt for the mother 
of his grandchild? Mrs. Ransom was, indeed, a stranger 
in Jotham ; a stranger to those who had known Fanny 
Wright ; a stranger to herself, who did not understand 
how she had reached such maturity and exuberance of life, 
considering the road she had travelled. 

Squire Wright, too, found his condition materially 
changed from what it was before he had passed through 
his recent experiences. The people had at last discovered 
that he was mortal like themselves. They retained all 
their respect for his integrity and sound judgment, but 
they felt that he was now more than ever one of themselves. 
They had been half inclined to think that whenever he 
uttered his decree even the wind and sea would obey him ; 
but now that he had been shattered by the storm, they 



PASTURE LANDS. 229 

held out one hand to help him, while they extended the 
other to receive from him their accustomed aid. It was 
observed that in his intercourse with his neighbors and 
friends, he had now not only a judicial word, but a gentle 
one ; and they who had been in the habit of watching 
the expression of his countenance discovered a gentler and 
more kindly light playing over his features, where before 
those sterner qualities which men call reliable had held 
their sway. It is barely possible that his magisterial 
grandeur had been somewhat dimmed ; but his humanity 
had expanded, until he included within the circle of his 
interest not those engaged in the business of life alone, 
but all who needed a sympathizing look and tone as well 
as sound advice. Mr. Howe consulted him with regard to 
the affairs of the parish ; Mrs. Howe asked his opinion 
with regard to investing the surplus funds of the Female 
Charitable Society ; he encouraged the Schoolmaster to 
■discuss with him the best method of managing the school ; 
he even bestowed upon William Jones, who sought his 
advice about some doubtful trade, such genuine and im- 
pressive counsel, that he materially mended his ways ; and 
he took the aifairs of Jim Bell, the miller, who was grad- 
ually declining and fading away, into his special care and 
keeping, for the benefit of his family when he was " dead 
and gone." Clara Bell, who, although intimate with Fanny 
and a favorite of Mrs. Wright, had never dared to approach 
the reserved and dignified old lawyer, found now in him 
the sweetest comfort and consolation ; and haunted as she 
was by the restless and fitful spirit of Dr. Parker, and con- 
tinually and painfully conscious of the Schoolmaster's un- 
uttered and unhappy affection, she was especially grateful 
for that picture of domestic happiness and repose which 
always presented itself in Fanny's chamber, when her boy 
nestled to his grandfather's heart, and warmed and irra- 
diated the evening of his day, with a glow which even the 



230 THE FARM- YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

bright morning had not known. The Squire until now 
had not known himself, nor had he been truly known by 
his townsmen. 

The condition of Charles Wright, the son whose health 
had been broken at the West, was such as to require fre- 
quent visits from Dr. Parker. " The boy," too, as he was 
familiarly known, needed looking after ; and Fanny's-cham- 
ber became a constant resort of the Doctor, who, notwith- 
standing his peculiarities, had a genuine love for whatever 
was gentle and refined. He had discovered, too, the affec- 
tion which was renewed in stronger and deeper form be- 
tween Fanny and Clara Bell, and the constant presence of 
the latter in that cheerful and domestic room invested it 
with a peculiar charm to himself And here he was espe- 
cially bright and fascinating. He had great respect for the 
ability and information of the Squire, whom he often met 
there ; and he was deeply moved by the strange and in- 
spiring influence which these two young women had upon 
each other, to invigorate their finest faculties, and to create 
a harmonious whole which can seldom be reached by the 
individual alone ; these two young women, so unlike and 
yet so fitted to each other, the one having reached the 
highest experience of life without knowledge of the way^ 
the other already harassed and distressed by conflicting 
love and duty, even before the path of life was fairly 
opened ; the one having shaped her mind and heart ac- 
cording to the demands of true regard, the other having 
witnessed nothing thus far but the intensity of passion ; 
the one having learned the end without knowledge of the 
beginning, the other tossed and tried by the conflict of an 
impassioned beginning without thought or knowledge of 
the end ; both sincere and earnest and gentle and fair, 
the palm-tree and the pine of true womanly beauty. Dr. 
Parker had never seen Clara so charming as when under 
the influence of this association. That girlishness, which 



PASTURE LANDS. 231 

he had always before witnessed with some degree of im- 
patience, vanishe'd here, and her fine womanly qualities, 
her good sense, and her intelligence displayed themselves 
to his surprise and admiration. He realized, too, more fully 
than he had ever done before, how grossly he had insulted 
and trifled with her on that unfortunate drive from the 
seaside. He learned what a fine womanly nature he had 
shocked, and, as his affection for her increased, he grew 
also more and more ambitious to win the object of his love, 
as a triumph over the obstacles which he felt his folly and 
wickedness had thrown in his way. He had sagacity 
enough to see that Clara had not forgotten that event, and 
that it prevented her from stepping beyond that region of 
kind consideration, which she had been taught to feel for 
him from her childhood, into the higher region of love. 
He could see that she was no longer obedient. And he 
felt, moreover, that as her intimacy with Fanny went on, 
her knowledge of herself would increase, until her own 
nature, and not the nature imposed upon her by others, 
would assert itself He knew that she loved Charles 
IngalLs, and that nothing would prevent her from being obe- 
dient to that love, except her belief in the bonds which had 
bound her to the will of her father and to himself, as her 
father's friend and her protector ; and he trembled when 
he thought upon the possibility of revolt and self-assertion, 
and the liberty which must follow. He could not speak to 
her upon a subject which, in an hour of prostration and 
abasement, he had referred to in language bordering on 
buffoonery and folly. The stars of heaven looked down 
upon him, and told him that, with a drunken leer, he had 
compared her eyes to themselves. The sweet tones of her 
voice reminded him of her trembling farewell on that un- 
happy midnight. And he knew also that before her stood 
continually the pure and honest and manly form of Charles 
Ingalls, whose gentle deference told the feeling within. 



232 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

whose deportment was so exemplary, whose purpose was 
so honest, whose soul was so spotless, whose mind was so 
eager to enter upon the work of life for her sake, and be- 
tween whom and her heart of hearts stood nothing but his 
own long-established authority, clothed by her with a little 
affection. But he knew, moreover, and he never ceased 
to remember it, that Fanny Wright had married the young 
minister from a sense of duty alone, and without the 
slightest idea of the law of love ; and he hoped and believed 
that her experience might still be considered a law unto 
Clara, and that she might be led to believe that wisdom 
and prudence and thrift are a better guide than love itself. 
But he forgot that he, in his mad moments, had taught this 
young girl the lesson he would now have her forget, and 
that when he babbled of his own love he pointed the way 
for her to something purer and holier. Neither did he 
know that love had already sprung up in her heart, and 
that the path which Fanny Wright had trod was impossi- 
ble to her. There was no such thing now for Clara Bell 
as Fanny Wright's marriage with the minister ; and Dr. 
Parker ought to have known it. The Schoolmaster did, 
and possessed his soul in peace. 

It was while Dr. Parker was considering, in his own 
mind, how he could best extricate himself from the diffi- 
culties which surrounded him, and was enjoying his daily 
visits to this charming circle, that the time arrived for an- 
other meeting of the Club. The Doctor was not sorry for 
this. He hoped to meet Squire Wright there, and he 
thought it possible that he might produce a favorable im- 
pression on that gentleman's mind, which he might convey 
to Fanny and Clara. He hoped, too, that he might meet 
the Schoolmaster, and learn the condition of his mind, 
under the knowledge of his own frequent and long-con- 
tinued visits at the Squire's. 

The meeting of the Club was unusually agreeable. The 



PASTURE LANDS. 



233 



old parlor never looked more inviting and hospitable ; the 
fire was never brighter ; the members never more cour- 
teous and spirited. 

Mr. Hopkins announced the subject under debate to be 

RECLAIiMING PASTURES, 

and called on John Thomas to lay before the Club such 
information as he had secured since the last meeting. Mr. 
Thomas said : — 

Mr. President, — I can add but little to what was said at the 
last meeting upon the subject of renovating pasture lands. I 





1 -iTi,-' ^: 







--^li^^^^^ 



HILLSIDE PASTURK AND CATTLE. 



think we have but little valuable information upon the matter, 
beyond the statements made at that time. It is undoubtedly a 
good plan to keep pastures free from bushes, and to stock them 



234 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

lightly, if we would preserve them in good condition ; and the 
same plan will apply to renovating them when they are overrun 
and exhausted, except that in this latter case you must apply 
some kind of fertilizer. I have looked over the statements 
which have been made on this subject, from time to time, in 
reports and essays, and they all agree in the views expressed 
here. Not many years ago the Board of Agriculture in Massa- 
chusetts issued a circular to the farmers of that State, making 
inquiries upon the very question now before us ; and, from the 
statements made in reply, they recorded the following conclu- 
sions, which I take the liberty of reading from one of the annual 
reports of that body : — 

" It is known to all who have investigated this subject, they 
say, that all pastures which have been constantly and closely 
cropped for many years, without receiving suitable returns, must 
of necessity be greatly exhausted of those substances which, in 
the economy of nature, are appropriated to the growth and sup- 
port of bone and muscle and to the production of milk ; and 
that thorough renovation can be effected only by restoring these 
substances to the soil. Different modes of restoring these prop- 
erties have been practised ; but it matters little how the effect is 
produced, provided it shall be thorough and at saving cost. 

" In every ten gallons of milk there is about half a pound of 
bone earth ; hence a cow that gives twenty quarts of milk a day 
takes from the soil about two pounds of superphosphate of lime 
every week ; and to restore this, three pounds of bone-dust are 
necessary. Bone-dust and sulphuric acid, mixed in equal parts 
by weight and left until the acid has decomposed the substance 
of the bones, have been applied with satisfactory results. By 
this process the substances of which the bones are composed are 
very minutely divided, and are thus more readily taken up by 
the roots of the plants. This preparation may be conveniently 
applied by mixing it with plaster, loam, powdered charcoal, etc., 
or to this mixture may be added thirty times its bulk of water, and 
applied in a liquid state. 

" Bones are best suited to dry or well-drained land, and may 
take the place of a part or the whole of the farm-yard manure. 



PASTURE LANDS. 235 

When thus used it will be well to combine them with wood- 
ashes. 

" Ploughing exhausted pastures will be of little avail, except 
to destroy weeds and bushes, without a suitable application of 
manure, as ploughing will restore nothing of which the soil has 
been deprived by long and close feeding. Manure in suitable 
quantities is indispensable ; but any kind that will produce good 
crops of timothy and clover will answer the purpose. 

" It is the opinion of the committee, formed upon some expe- 
rience, that old pastures may in many instances be renovated by 
turning them over smoothly late in the autumn, applying with a 
harrow a liberal quantity of manure in the spring, and seeding 
with redtop, timothy, and clover, with or without a crop of 
wheat, barley, or other small grain. If the season continues 
dry, after the crop of grain, if there is any, has been removed, 
the young plants will languish, and they must be protected from 
close feeding ; if the season should be wet, a heavy growth 
will follow, and admit of pasturing freely. 

" It may be, and probably is, a better and more thorough mode 
of operation to plant with corn or potatoes the first year, and 
seed the next, applying a second dressing of manure. Both 
modes may be tested at pleasure. 

" The production of these grasses may be gready promoted, 
and the latter, in moderate quantities, indefinitely continued, by 
occasionally top-dressing them with from one to two bushels of 
plaster per acre, or twenty-five bushels of wood-ashes per acre, 
when plaster refuses to operate. Irrigation, with slight manur- 
ing in many places, produces favorable results. 

" The committee learn, both from experiment and inquiry, 
that pastures devoted exclusively to the fattening of cattle sel- 
dom deteriorate, clearly because they are not cropped to the 
extent of all they produce, and the cattle remain upon them 
both day and night. 

" The committee would suggest the following plan for the 
renovation of such pasture lands as may be ploughed : — 

" Set apart four or five lots of convenient size ; plough and 
plant No. I with corn, applying manure enough to produce a 



236 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

good crop. The next year sow the same with wheat or barley, 
and stock down to grass. Plant and treat No. 2 in the same 
manner, and so continue, planting one lot and stocking down 
one lot each year, until all are stocked down to grass. At the 
end of six years the five lots will have been completely reno- 
vated, and the same course commenced a second time. Thus 
the system may be indefinitely continued, yielding an unbroken 
succession of remunerating grain crops and pasturage of the 
finest quality. 

" In a single instance which came to the notice of one of the 
committee, the quantity of grass produced by this mode of culti- 
vation was, he believes, nearly quadrupled, while the quality was 
improved in a much greater ratio. 

" The committee are aware that many experienced cultivators, 
whose opinions are entitled to the highest respect, are strongly 
opposed to the practice of pasturing renovated lands until the 
third year after seeding ; and they seriously question whether 
any advantage results from ploughing such lands for the purpose 
of renovation. It is hoped that valuable information will be 
derived from the experiment on the application of manures, 
which will probably be made by the county societies under the 
direction of this board. 

" If it should be proved by the proposed experiment that 
manures applied to the surface are of equal efficacy with those 
harrowed or ploughed in, and thus incorporated with the soil, 
then the plan above suggested may readily give place to the 
system of surface manuring." 

I have read this report, Mr. President, because I once knew 
the author, and I had great respect for his intelligence, honesty, 
and good judgment, and because I desired to show that even 
from such a source we could derive nothing very positive or 
definite on the question before us. The experiment proposed 
by this committee could not possibly be applied to remote or 
hilly or rocky pastures with any chance of success, on account of 
the enormous cost which would attend it. You cannot apply to 
a pasture the same mode of cultivation which you apply to a 
piece of mowing land, unless you are willing to add very largely 



PASTURE LANDS. 237 

to the cost of the land, without expecting an ample or even a rea- 
sonable reward. I agree, therefore, with the conclusions we 
reached at the last meeting, namely, rest, destroying bushes 
and weeds, and the application of fertilizers to the surface. 
I can show you, to-day, a piece of pasture land of about twenty 
acres, level, easily ploughed, free from stones, and just such 
land as can be easily and economically handled whether for 
pasturing or tillage. Three years ago one half of this pasture 
was ploughed, planted one year to corn, manured reasonably, 
and seeded the next. Since that time it has been fed down by 
milch cows. The other half has been let alone, the owner 
not having yet got ready to extend the ploughing and culti- 
vating. Now, if you will visit that pasture any day in the 
months of June or July, when the feed ought to be as good as 
the land will yield, you will find the cultivated land to be still 
broken, the sod uneven and not uniform, the grass scanty, weeds 
springing up here and there, and the amount of feed quite 
small. On the half which has not been ploughed there is a 
firm, compact sod, a fair supply of feed, and a smooth and even 
surface thickly and uniformly covered. I venture to say that 
there is more than twice the amount of feed on the latter half 
that there is on the former. And I think every member of this 
Club would agree with me that upon the unploughed piece 
there is a vastly better chance to use with advantage plaster or 
ashes or any other fertilizer, than there is upon the piece which 
has been ploughed, cultivated, and manured. I know I am 
repeating somewhat the remarks of the last meeting ; but the 
question is one of so much importance, and one also on which 
we have still so much to learn, or unlearn, and I don't know 
exactly which, that I trust the gentlemen present will excuse me 
for travelling over ground with which they are already familiar. 

Mr. Howe took the floor at this point, and said : — 

I have listened with great interest to the remarks made at 
the last meeting of the Club, and to the report read this even- 
ing by Mr. Thomas, with valuable comments of his own, upon 
the management of pastures. I can easily see tliat the minds 



238 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

of those who have discussed the question are occupied by the 
best methods to be appUed to large, remote, outlying lands 
which, unless pastured, would either be lying waste, or growing 
up to wood. I grant that the difficulties surrounding the man- 
agement and renovation of lands like these are very great. 
But I have in my mind some smaller farms, so situated that 
a portion of them must be used for pasturing, where I think a 
more elaborate system than has been proposed here may be 
adopted with great benefit. More than fifty years ago my 
father, who, as you well know, was a clergyman, who divided 
his time, as all his contemporaries did, between his parish and 
his land, purchased an estate of ten acres for his homestead. 
It was a strong, somewhat heavy piece of land, seven acres of 
which was a level elevated plain, and three acres of which occu- 
pied the slope of a hill. None of the land was in good condi- 
tion, and it was thought best to subject the whole to a uniform 
system of renovation, before dividing it into such lots as might 
be needed for the various purposes of a small farm. When the 
buildings had been erected, and the walls and fences completed, 
the entire ten acres were put under the course of cultivation in 
fashion at that time. The crops, with the exception of a small 
patch for a garden, were corn and potatoes and grass in the 
common rotation. The hillside was the least promising and 
most troublesome part of the farm, being uneven, springy, and 
covered in many places with brake-roots and hassocks. But 
these were all removed, and the land yielded great crops of 
potatoes, as I well remember, excellent corn, a fair crop of bar- 
ley, and very heavy crops of grass, to which the lot seemed to be 
especially adapted. In the course of four or five years after the 
clearing and renovating process was begun, it was determined 
to devote this hillside to pasturage. Remember, it had never 
been exhausted ; it had never been pastured or cropped to the 
point of being run out ; it had simply lain rough and idle for 
years. It was fenced off, and the business for which it was de- 
signed commenced. There are three acres of it ; and from that 
time to this it has carried two cows, sometimes, for a few weeks, 
three, often a yearling heifer in addition, and by the application 



PASTURE LAXDS. 239 

of a few bushels of plaster, every four or five years, it has 
retained its value as a pasture to this day. Care has been 
taken, it is true, that it should be kept free from brush and 
noxious weeds ; hardback has been cut down as soon as it 
appeared ; thistles, which have sprung up now and then, have 
been carefully mowed while in blossom, and a little coarse salt 
has been applied to each root, as a sure eradicator of this pest ; 
and the droppings of the cows have been scattered over the 
grass early in the spring for many years. This pasture, thus 
reclaimed, has been very convenient to that little farm for a long 
time, to say the least of it. It has, as I think, been very profit- 
able J for here were three acres of land, well located, easily 
fenced and walled, carrying season after season as many cows 
as twelve acres of common pasturage would have carried, under 
ordinary circumstances. I do not mean to say that this could 
be done in all cases. I only know that it was done in this case, 
and that every practical observer was satisfied that this division 
of the ten-acre farm was much better than it would have been 
to purchase a pasture elsewhere, and devote the original pur- 
chase to crops alone. 

Mr. Howe's statement was received with evident satis- 
faction ; and in tlie fartlier corner of the room Solomon 
Eaton, the thin and feeble and white-haired old man long 
past eighty, lifted up his. piping little voice for the first 
time in the Club, and bore his testimony to the importance 
of scattering the manure of last year over the grass in 
spring. " I have made it my special business for many- 
years," said he, " and I have had the same maul to do it 
with for more than twenty-five years, and mean to use it 
twenty-five years longer." 

The old man's little speech silenced everybody for a few 
minutes ; it was so unexpected, so flavored with a childish 
enthusiasm, such a momentary waking up of all the old 
forces, such an evidence that even in the frosty winter of 
his old age the opening spring-time of nature was as full of 
delightful warmth and cheer as ever; it struck like a far-off 



240 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

knell. And in the silent moment that followed every man 
there saw a vision of a lifetime, from the dawn of the morn- 
ing to the last feeble ray of the setting sun. 

William Jones, however, was not the man to bear such 
kind of silence long ; and so he remarked that " pasturing 
was dear enough, anyhow, without ploughing and manur- 
ing," and he hoped the simpler method of cleaning and 
delay would be adopted by the Club. 

" So say we all of us," chimed in Peter Ilsley. And at 
nine o'clock the Club adjourned. 

Old Mr. Eaton tottered out, and was followed by Jones 
and Ilsley and most of the members of the Club, who were 
evidently anxious to get home before the snow-storm, which 
had now set in, became severe. Dr. Parker, who had sat 
unusually silent during the discussion, and had only 
changed his attitude to turn now and then a half-dreamy 
gaze upon Squire Wright, and to avoid the Schoolmaster, 
went out also. The Squire and the Schoolmaster lingered 
behind. There was no special purpose in their delay ; but 
they happened to come together as the assembly dispersed, 
and they paused before the fire to pay each other those 
usual civilities which are so useful in preparing the way 
for intimacy, and which are so convenient to occupy the 
time while the preliminary survey is going on. It was 
evident that these two gentlemen had already taken a 
fancy to each other, and it was evident to the Schoolmaster 
that somehow the Squire had already gained more knowl- 
edge of him than is usual with a stranger or a new ac- 
quaintance. At any rate, so it seemed to him. And as 
he stood there engaged in careless conversation with that 
old man, he felt assured that the problem which troubled 
him would be solved to his satisfaction, if he would only 
conduct himself in such a way as to secure the respect of 
this venerable lawyer, and the esteem of this subdued and 
softened gentleman. 



PASTURE LANDS. 24I 

" Ah ! my friends," exclaimed Mr. Hopkins, as he closed 
his front door and returned to his parlor, " I am glad to 
see you togelher. Charles Ingalls, Mr. Wright, is a most 
estimable young man, I am happy to say. I commend him 
to you. He has taught our school most acceptably ; this 
is now the second winter ; and he has done well, — dune 
well in the school-house, and in the Club, and in the church, 
and in our houses. I hope the day will come when we 
shall find him in your office. You will study law, Mr. 
Ingalls, of course .^ " 

The Schoolmaster hardly knew what to reply, but he 
hesitatingly answered that possibly he might. He had 
sometimes thought of medicine. 

" Not at all, not at all ! " said Mr. Hopkins. " Medicine 
is a very good profession, but it is not the sphere for you. 
You may think you would enjoy the work of relieving 
human suffering, and of becoming a part of every house- 
hold in town ; but I know better. You may not succeed 
anywhere, but you may be sure you never will as a phy- 
sician. And I advise you to school your mind from this 
hour to the business of clearly and calmly examining what- 
ever comes before you, and to a rapid application of some 
fixed law with which you are familiar to such matters as 
are submitted to your, investigation. Above all things, 
cultivate your memory, that your judgment may not be led 
astray. You must be a lawyer, and a good one. What do 
you say to it, Mr. Wright .■* " 

" I am inclined to think you are right, Mr. Hopkins," 
replied the Sc|uire. " Mr. Ingalls has a little more publicity 
about him than is absolutely necessary for a doctor. I 
guess he 'd better try the law." 

They chatted awhile, and separated. And Charles 
Ingalls pondered upon the good fortune of his two old 
friends. 

16 



242 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 



SEVENTEENTH MEETING. 

ROOT CROPS. 

ILLNESS OF THE BOY. — HIS RECOVERY. — SILENT DISTRESS.— 
CHARLES INGALLS TELLS HIS TALE. — CLARA LISTENS. — DAY 
BREAKS. 

1 HE Boy" had been ill for many days. A heavy, 
gloomy cloud had hung over the house. Hour after hour, 
through day and night, the child lay there, weighed down 
by the oppressive load of disease, unconscious of the droop- 
ing sadness all around him, and of the desperate struggle 
for life going on within him. The attentions of Dr. Parker 
were constant and devoted ; he made an almost impatient 
appeal to the science he loved so well to manifest its power, 
or surrender its claims to the confidence and respect of 
mankind ; and he realized the restless and exhausting 
anxiety which, more than toil itself, wears out and kills 
the faithful and conscientious physician. The Squire was 
bewildered and lost. The storm had struck him when he 
least expected it, and he wandered from his house to his 
office, and from his office to the bedside of the little sufferer, 
where alone he found a momentary repose. He prayed 
for the child's life ; he waited and watched in silence ; he 
looked and longed for one encouraging word from Dr. 
Parker, but dared not ask for information ; he tried over 
and over again to ask his good wife, the patient and cheer- 
ful and self-possessed grandmother, whose calm trust and 
great faith held up, as with a strong arm, the suffering 
household, if it was well with the child, but the words 
choked him and his tears blinded him; and often and often 



ROOT CROPS. 243 

did he put his great, strong arm around Fanny, his daughter, 
the broken-hearted young mother, and draw her to him in 
the sad, oppressive silence of that chamber, as his expres- 
sion of love and sympathy. It was in the companionship 
of Mr. Howe alone that he found comfort, and to Mr. Howe 
alone was it that he unburdened his aching heart, asking 
him to pray with him ; " for," said he, " if the child lives, I 
shall owe all the joy to God ; and, if it dies, I shall surely 
need all His support." In all the great trial Fanny never 
faltered, it is true, but she went about her duty half bewil- 
dered and stunned by the swift calamity. To her the day- 
light was all gone. She passed, mechanically, from place 
to place ; diligent in all offices for the child, and O, so 
weary, and so broken-hearted by the presence of the simple 
little arrangements she had made for the comfort and hap- 
piness of her boy. The sight of his idle toys killed her. 
A little picture, hanging on the wall, placed there to please 
his eye, blinded her. All she had done for him seemed 
poor and weak ; its very poverty was touching, now that 
he walked with her on the confines of the dark valley. 
And as the depths of her heart were revealed to her, she 
learned for the first time the sacredness of her being, and 
realized what that love is which binds with a holy bond. 
The world, indeed, seemed to mock her as it went upon its 
accustomed way, while her own life was so torn and con- 
vulsed. And as she learned how sorrow, as well as joy, 
belongs to the wise design of the Great Father, she recalled 
the tender lines which Charles Ingalls once read to herself 
and Clara : — 

" Its inmost bitterness, the heart 
In its recesses knoweth ; 
Yet, ne'ertheless, the spring-flowers start. 
The mild spring-wind still bloweth"; 

and she felt how over all the heavens were spread with 
the equal blessing of sunlight and cloud. And then the 



244 THE FARM- YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

hours were so heavy, and the fountains of her tears were so 
dry, and her Hp was so parched and feverish, and the gloom 
was so solemn, and man was so powerless, that she longed 
to lie down by the side of the child, and wait for death to 
■ come. 

It was very long, as long as eternity it seemed, before 
the darkness broke and day began to dawn. But the hour 
came, and when to all that band of mourners it seemed as 
if the shades of death were coming on, and that little life 
was about to close. Dr. Parker announced that the severity 
of the disease was passed, and that " nature," as he mod- 
estly remarked, "had triumphed." And "joy cometh with 
the morning." The light of that house returned. The 
Squire once more drew Fanny to him, whispered his 
gratitude, and then retired to the loneHness of his office, 
to muse over the smouldering embers on his hearth upon 
the great and surpassing goodness which had averted the 
trial. The patient and long-suffering and cheerful grand- 
mother wiped away the one tear which trickled out of the 
corner of her eye, and pursued her accustomed way of 
usefulness and self-control. Clara Bell, who had constantly 
bestowed her sweet and gentle aid, poured out all her 
heart in one abounding kiss to Fanny, and fled to her own 
humble home to tell all there in a flood of grateful tears. 
The worn and drooping mother was still ; too thankful for 
words, and too much bowed down to feel and realize that 
the joy of her life had returned. Before her eyes there 
passed continually a new vision of the life she had lived ; 
her short and sad experience had a new meaning ; she had 
learned all those powers of the human heart which belong 
to the sphere of wife and mother. She thanked God for 
her child, and she pondered with a new and tenderer love 
upon the memory of the child's father. 

The care which Dr. Parker bestowed upon Fanny's child, 
during its long and severe illness, was tender and touching. 



KOOT CROPS. 245 

He had done all that his learning and skill could dictate 
to overcome the disease, but, more than this, he had done 
all that a watchful and intelligent nurse could have done 
to bear the child over the depressing moments, when the 
powers of life seem to be more endangered by weariness 
than by the disease itself. He had so devoted himself to 
this work, that a marked change in his general deportment 
was manifest to all who knew him. He had evidently put 
himself on his good behavior ; and even the minister and 
the Squire felt that the unpleasant shade of recklessness, 
hardly visible, it is true, which colored his life ordinarily, 
had passed away. He carried with him so manifestly the 
influence of the anxious family, that the people of Jotham, 
with whom he was in constant intercourse, felt a deep and 
universal sympathy for the sufferers, and rejoiced most 
thoroughly and warmly with them when the trial was over. 
It really seemed as if the character of the village had 
changed, — so great is the effect of even one prominent 
and controlling' individual upon the community in which 
he lives. Jotham, with a purified and softened Dr. Parker, 
was a vast improvement upon Jotham with the mysterious 
and incongruous Dr. Parker of the library, and the labora- 
tory, and the grocer's counter, and the periodical indul- 
gence. And not in the village alone did this temporary 
change in Dr. Parker have an effect. It was not in 
accor'dance with nature that he should go hand in hand 
through all that trial in Squire Wright's family, and not 
establish a new and better relation there. The respect 
and admiration felt for him by the Squire and Mrs. Wright 
were unbounded. Fanny was filled with a warm and 
almost aff'ectionate gratitude to him, and he was now 
received by her with emotion as well as with regard and 
civility. Clara Bell's face, which for months had been so 
passive in his presence, seemed now to be filled with a 
light almost tender whenever she met him. And so 



246 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

charming was all this to him that, deeply conscious as he 
was of his weaknesses and defects, he felt at times that his 
regeneration had begun. He knew at least that his rela- 
tions to mankind about him had materially changed. 

During the many weeks of "the Boy's" illness the 
people of Jotham had been remarkably quiet. Mr. Howe 
had been obliged to give special attention to the poor and 
suffering of his parish. Mr. Hopkins had been called to 
Boston oftener than usual on matters of business. The 
"singing-master" had been so disabled by a cold that his 
school had been suspended. John Thomas had been con- 
fined to his house by an accident which befell him while he 
was at work in the woods. Peter Ilsley had been knocked 
down by his bull, and so bruised that he could hardly get 
to the barn to fodder his cattle ; and William Jones had 
been constantly occupied in taking care of a favorite horse, 
which had been unaccountably attacked with cerebro- 
spinal meningitis. Not a social tea-drinking had occurred 
for weeks; and even the Club had been obliged to postpone 
its meetings. In the midst of all this trouble and general 
suspension the Schoolmaster stood alone. Day after day 
he discharged his duty in the school-room ; but when that 
duty was over he found himself deprived of all those 
enjoyments which had made Jotham so fascinating to him 
the previous year. He had but little opportunity for 
pleasure ; and amidst the sorrows of his friends he had no 
heart for what there was. In common with all those about 
him, he felt also a deep sympathy for Fanny and her boy ; 
and it was perfectly natural he should abandon his usual 
haunts, and turn his steps towards the new objects of 
interest. While, therefore. Dr. Parker was devoting him- 
self to his professional services, and Mr. Hopkins was in 
Boston, and Squire Wright was mournfully waiting for the 
relief which came, Charles Ingalls found himself occupying 
his leisure hours in various attentions to Jim Bell. He 



ROOT CROPS. 247 

had forgotten all the imaginary barriers between himself 
and Clara ; and, without awkwardness or hesitation, he 
began his devotion to her father, whose feebleness increased 
day by day, and whose useful friends were too largely with- 
drawn by the illnesses and accidents which have already 
been recounted. There were the newspapers to be read, 
and he read them. There was the village gossip to recite, 
and he recited it. There was an old account to be found 
and examined, and he found and examined it. From Clara, 
too, he could get daily reports of the illness of " the Boy " ; 
and so, the way being open, he walked in it without effort 
or delay. 

His hours with Clara were not all rosy and unclouded. 
He had not forgotten that early allusion of hers to the 
authority of Dr. Parker, and while he felt inwardly sure of 
her regard for him, he conscientiously observed the obliga- 
tions which he felt her sense of duty imposed upon her. 
The moments spent with her were sweet enough, it is true, 
for all around the books which they read together, and the 
bits of song and story which he prepared for her, and the 
pictures of his future life and career which he drew with 
her, there was a warm and glowing atmosphere, whose life- 
giving influences they both recognized and felt. The little 
room in which they sat so often Clara had adorned with a 
simple and graceful taste, and never in palace or garden 
was there found a sweeter retreat than that humble spot, 
where these two lovers tried to conceal their love from each 
other, and where the bonds which bound them together 
strengthened and strengthened until nothing but death 
could break them. 

" Thank God, ' the Boy ' is better," said Clara, one even- 
ing, as she came in from the Squire's and found Charles 
waiting for her return, to read to her Whittier's " Snow- 
Bound." " I am so glad for Fanny ; the poor child has 
suffered until she is almost crazy." 



248 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

Charles saw the tears of gratitude spring into Clara's 
eyes as she said this and sat down to listen to his read- 
ing ; and so, out of regard for the thoughts which were evi- 
dently uppermost in her mind, he laid aside his book, and 
said : " The Squire, too, must be himself again. I have 
never seen an old man suffer as he has on account of the 
illness of a child. How fortunate it is that old age dulls 
the keen edge of grief, — old age to which separation is 
inevitable and near, in obedience to the laws of nature." 

" Why, Charles," said Clara, " does old age chill our 
affections .-^ " 

" I hardly know about that," said Charles ; " for I shall 
never forget the youthful glow with which the old Squire 
declared to me in his office, one afternoon, that he did not 
believe there was anything sweeter in life than the reviving 
affection of an old man for his wife. But I suppose the 
consciousness that a separation must naturally be short 
makes it the more endurable ; and the nearer man ap- 
proaches heaven, the less valuable does earth appear." 

" I don't believe," said Clara, thoughtfully, " a woman 
knows anything about what you and the Squire call re- 
viving love. I think she loves right on if she begins to 
love at all." 

" And allows nobody to interfere '^. " asked Charles, 
eagerly. 

" Nobody," answered Clara. " I mean love, and not 
duty. I am but a young girl, Charles, and know but little ; 
but I have seen how, through these long weeks of sorrow 
and anxiety, Fanny's heart has been awakened, and she 
has learned at last what her affections are. She is very 
different now from what she was before she had learned 
that her child might die." 

" What do you mean .'' " asked Charles. 

" Why, she used to tell me what a fine i^arish she lost 
when Mr. Ransom died ; and how sad it was to be checked 



ROOT CROPS. 249 

in early life, and how important it was that every young 
woman should start well. I asked her, one day, if she 
meant that every young girl shall set her affection on a 
young man of good character and high principle, and not 
be deceived by the more superficial qualities, and she said 
she did n't mean exactly that ; but some time she would 
tell me what she did mean. And then she spoke about 
Dr. Parker and his position and fortune. But she talks a 
great deal now about the power of love alone to carry us 
through the trials of lil'e." 

" Do you think she loves Dr. Parker .-' " said Charles, with 
a faint tremor in his voice. 

" O no," said Clara, innocently ; " I don't think a woman 
is apt to fall in love with her doctor, when he is trying to 
save the life of her child ; I think gratitude takes the place 
of love." 

" Did she think you had better continue your love, then, 
for Dr. Parker .'' " said Charles. 

" My love for Dr. Parker ! " said Clara ; and the tears 
came into her eyes, and she suppressed the rising sob with 
that effort which, in a woman, is more touching than an 
uncontrolled outburst of grief 

Charles felt so ashamed of himself for having endeavored 
to wring a confession from an honest and loving heart by 
a mean innuendo, that he sat in silence, feeling that he had 
cast a shadow over the brightest moment of his life. He 
was suddenly overwhelmed with the thought that he was 
not worthy of a person so fair and ingenuous as Clara ; 
and he covered his face with his hands, and sobbed 
aloud. 

" Charles ! " said Clara, in a tone softened and enriched 
by the emotion which was swelling in her throat ; and 
Charles Ingalls uncovered his face to behold fixed upon 
himself the warm and tearful gaze of the radiant and beau- 
tiful woman whom he loved. In an instant his sky was 



250 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

cleared. The evil passions which had tormented him fell 
away. He was no longer angry with Dr. Parker ; no 
longer oppressed with the burden of concealment ; no 
longer discontented with his lot. But the future all opened 
before him full of promise ; the path of life seemed bright. 




CHARLES INGALLS AND CLARA BELL. 



and open to the highest and best accomplishment. More 
than ever now was he overwhelmed, his joy simply inten- 
sifying the emotion which was awakened by his shame and 
distress. With a half-smothered cry he exclaimed, " Clara!" 
And, falling on his knees at her feet, he buried his face in 
her lap, and wept like a child. 



ROOT CROPS. 251 

As when the clouds break and roll away from the sum- 
mer sky the sunlight pours forth all its glory and beauty 
upon the earth and the heavens, and the gilded canopy 
above seems to rejoice in the landscape sparkling with 
raindrops, so the darkness passed away from these two 
hearts, and for them there was the radiance of a life of joy 
and love. The sweet stillness that surrounded them was 
not soon broken ; but there in silence they gave their 
pledges, and felt that life had now begun. When Charles 
left, " Snow-Bound " was lying unopened on the table. 

Mr. Hopkins had returned ; Mr. Howe was at leisure ; 
John Thomas was at work again ; Peter Ilsley had recov- 
ered ; William Jones's horse was dead ; and all seemed 
desirous of a meeting of the Club. The meeting was 
therefore called by the committee, and the subject selected 
was 

ROOT CROPS. 

When the Club assembled, Mr. Hopkins warmly con- 
gratulated those present on the good fortune which had 
brought them once more together. He alluded to the 
difficulties in business which he had been obliged to over- 1 
come, on account of his son, since they last met, and re- 
joiced that, after having discharged his duty to the best of 
his ability to save his name from even a shadow of financial 
dishonor, he had been enabled to return to the quiet asso- 
ciations of Jotham, and to renew the discussions of those 
interesting topics which belonged to the Club. He had a 
sympathizing word for John Thomas, and Peter Ilsley, and 
William Jones ; inquired kindly after Jim Bell, and turning 
to the Squire he asked with special interest after Fanny 
and " the Boy," and was inexpressibly grateful that the 
trial was over. To the Schoolmaster he was unusually 
cordial ; and as he took him by the hand he felt that for 
some reason there was a new and more elastic force in the 



252 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

young man's blood, and he saw a rare exaltation in the 
young man's face. 

"The subject under discussion," said he, " is one which 
has attracted great attention in modern days, and has been 
carefully investigated in all the best agricultural countries 
of the northern latitudes. There has been a strong preju- 
dice against the cultivation and use of roots in this country, 
I am aware ; and the abundance and cheapness of Indian 
corn, one of the most healthful and nutritious of all grain 
products, have led many to believe that such roots as man- 
golds, Swedish turnips, and carrots are unnecessary and 
superfluous. In England, where corn is not cultivated 
and the crop is unknown, the Swedish turnip has long 
been held in high favor ; and in our own country, at last, 
in spite of opposition, the swede and mangold are now 
considered as valuable adjuncts to the common articles 
which are used as food for cattle. I have seen many herds 
which had been well fed during the winter on hay and 
corn-meal, and which indicated in the spring a want of 
some greater variety of food in order to preserve their 
health and good condition. I have also seen herds which 
have had a reduced amount of meal, with a daily feed of 
roots, and came out in the spring in the finest condition, 
and ready to receive the highest benefit from a run at 
grass during the following summer. Those of you who 
are familiar with Mr. Webster's views on agriculture, as 
expressed publicly and privately, cannot have forgotten 
the enthusiasm with which he dwelt on the value of the 
turnip crop to the agricultural resources of Great Britain. 
He was undoubtedly correct ; and it is now generally con- 
ceded that the introduction of the turnip into the great 
field crops of England has wrought a happy revolution in 
the whole system of farming there. 

" I am aware that, during our discussion of the subject 
of cattle, in one of our early meetings of the Club, some 



ROOT CROPS. 253 

interesting remarks were made with regard to mangolds, 
swedes, and carrots, and the best methods of cultivating 
them ; but it has been deemed well to consider these 
matters more carefully ; and I will now call on Mr. John- 
son to give his experience in root culture." 

" Mr, President," said Mr. Johnson, " I have for many 
years devoted a portion of my land to root culture, and I 
think I have found it profitable. I formerly confined 
myself to grain of various descriptions, in addition to hay, 
in feeding my dairy cows ; but I became satisfied that they 
suffered for the want of green food of some kind during 
the winter, and I began on the use of mangolds for my 
cows, and turnips for my young cattle and steers. For 
these last, I can only say that they will be kept in fine 
thriving condition on hay of a very ordinary quality, if 
they get in addition a peck of turnips, even four or five 
times a week. The health of all my cattle has vastly im- 
proved since I began this mode of feeding. In order that 
I may present my plan of raising the mangold and the 
Swedish turnip, I have brought to the Club statements 
which I made years ago to our agricultural society, and 
which contain my present views generally. 

" Mangold-Wurzel. — The crop of mangold-wurzel, which 
I enter for premium, was raised on one acre and one eighth 
of land. The soil is a heavy, clayey loam (and that is best 
for mangolds), has been many years under cultivation, and 
is a portion of the field which I drained with tiles and have 
heretofore described. For three years after drainage it 
was devoted to grass crops, having been laid down to grass 
the year before it was drained. Last year it was manured 
on the sod, twenty-five loads, or a little more than eight 
cords, to the acre, and was ploughed with a Michigan 
plough. May 23 it -was harrowed, furrowed, and planted 
to corn with superphosphate in the hill. Early in Novem- 
ber following it was fall-ploughed. 



254 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

" Early in May of this year it was manured with eight 
cords of barn-yard manure to the acre, ploughed again, 
and left until May 20. It was then ploughed again, har- 
rowed, and drilled. Seven cords of manure, a compost of 
barn-yard manure with sand and muck, were applied in 
the drills. 

"The seed was soaked thirty-six hours in water poured 
hot upon it. The tops of the drills were carefully raked. 
An implement made of plank, four inches wide and three 
feet long, from the bottom of which projected pins two 
inches long and an inch and a quarter in thickness, and 
seven inches apart, and on the top of which was fastened a 
frame handle, made by nailing narrow strips of board, two 
and one half feet long, to the ends of the plank, and fas- 
tened together at the top by a short strip a foot and a half 
long, was used for making holes into which the seed was 
to be dropped. The latter process was also done by hand, 
and the seed was covered with the hoe. In this way I 
secured an even crop, and avoided the necessity of thin- 
ning, which attends the use of a seed-sower. The crop 
was hoed twice, and, later in the season, was cleared of 
weeds by hand. The varieties were the long red and the 
yellow globe. The crop was, by measurement (sixty 
pounds to the bushel), 1,800 bushels. The account with 
the crop stands as follows : — 



To manure (fifteen cords at $ 5 per cord) 
To hauling manure .... 
To ploughing twice .... 
To harrowing ..... 
To sowing the seed .... 
To two hoeings .... 
To clearing ..... 

To harvesting ..... 



Total 

Cr. by 1,800 bushels of mangolds. 



$75.00 
8.00 
4.00 
1. 00 
6.00 

16.00 
5.00 

20.00 



$135-00 



ROOT CROPS. 255 

" The cost of these roots, nine and a half cents a bushel, 
is certainly not extravagant, considering their value as 
food and their usual market price. They usually sell for 
$7 (now more generally $15), of sixty pounds to the 
bushel, or about thirty-four bushels to the ton ; and at 
this rate bring twenty cents and a fraction per bushel. 

" According to analysis and experiment, 400 pounds of 
mangold-wurzel are equivalent to 100 pounds of English 
hay. At sixty pounds to the bushel the crop weighed 
96,000 pounds, or forty-eight tons, — equivalent to twelve 
tons of hay, taking the estimate that four tons of mangolds 
are equal to one ton of hay. For the production of milk, 
I have no doubt that the forty-eight tons of mangolds are 
worth more than thirteen tons of hay." 

" Do you sow by hand and in drills now t " asked Mr. 

Hopkins. 

" No, I do not," replied Mr. Johnson. " I sow with a 
machine and on a flat surface ; but I cannot get quite so 
large a crop, and the work of thinning is much greater." 

" I will now read my statement of the Swedish turnip, 
or ruta-baga crop, which I made the same year," said Mr. 
Johnson. 

" Rnta-Bagas. — I enter also a crop of ruta-bagas, raised 
on two and a half acres of land. 

" The land was an elevated knoll, rising out of a bed of 
clay, and bounded on one side by a salt marsh. The top 
of the knoll is somewhat gravelly and light, but, as it in- 
clines towards the low land surrounding it, is a warm 
loam. 

" The piece has been in grass for many years, and yielded 
last year a poor crop, — less than half a ton of hay to the 
acre. It was ploughed June 20, with a Michigan plough, 
and manure at the rate of fifteen ox-cart loads to the acre 
was spread upon it, and harrowed in. It was then har- 
rowed again with a light harrow, and the loose sods were 



256 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

turned over with the hoe. Lines were drawn with a mark- 
ing rake, containing three long, heavy teeth, twenty inches 
apart, drawn by one man and held by another. In the 
small furrows thus made a small quantity of superphos- 
phate was sprinkled. The seed was then sown in these 
furrows with a sower. The seed used was Skirving's King 
of the Swedes. The planting was finished in June. 

"The land was hoed twice, and the plants were thinned 
out, leaving spaces of six inches in the rows. The crop 
was harvested by four men and two teams, in four and a 
half days. The amount of the crop is one thousand eight 
hundred and seventy-six bushels at sixty pounds to the 
bushel ; and the account is as follows : — 

To twelve days' ploughing ...... ^12.00 

To three days' seeding ...... 3.00 

To twenty-four days' hoeing and thinning . . . 24.00 

To ten cords of barn-yard manure and hauling . . 50.00 

To 1,000 pounds of super-phosphate .... 20.00 

To twenty-seven days' harvesting' .... 27.00 

Total $136.00 

Cr. by 1,876 bushels of roots. 

"The market price of ruta-bagas varies materially in dif- 
ferent seasons. Last autumn they sold for fifty cents per 
barrel. Last spring and this autumn they sold for one 
dollar per barrel. At these prices it is easy to calculate 
the cash value of the above crop. 

" As food for cattle, ruta-bagas bear the relation to English 
hay which three hundred bears to one hundred. At sixty 
pounds to the bushel the crop weighed one hundred and 
twelve thousand five hundred and sixty pounds, or fifty-six 
and one third tons, equivalent to eighteen and seven ninths 
tons of hay, taking the estimate that three tons of ruta- 
bagas are equivalent to one ton of hay. 

" There is no doubt that ruta-bagas, or Swedish turnips. 



ROOT CROPS. 257 

are easily cultivated on light warm land ; and I am satis- 
fied from experience that they are the most useful root the 
farmer can raise for store and fattening cattle." 

" Full of water, ain't they ? " said Sam Barker. " Ninety 
per cent water. Who wants to haul this round .' " 

" A man, or a turnip, or a forked radish is ninety per 
cent water. You are, Sam. So is most of the food we 
eat. But water in certain combinations nourishes. And 
I think a Swedish turnip is one of them," said Mr. Thomas. 

A conversational debate on these two roots followed, 
until " the clock tolled the hour for retiring," and the Club 
dispersed. 

The Schoolmaster had been cheerfully silent. Dr. Par- 
ker was not present. The subject was not exhausted. 



17 



258 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 



EIGHTEENTH MEETING. 
ROOT CROPS (Contiiiiied). 

SORROW VANISHES. — HUMAN NATURE RETURNS. — FANNY TELLS 
DR. PARKER SOME WHOLESOME TRUTHS. — HE FINDS HIS 
MATCH. 

1 HE family of Squire Wright had returned to their ac- 
customed course. " The Boy " had recovered his health 
almost entirely, and had come back to his cheery and 
enlivening spirits, which infused themselves through the 
household like the sunbeams of opening summer. The 
gratitude and joy which welled over and filled to perfect 
fulness the hearts of all that family, when the shadow 
passed away, had become so much a matter of custom that 
now and then, in an unwary moment, a little roughness 
would return or a momentary passion would break forth, 
and astonish that just now chastened and purified group. 
The spirit of evil seldom closes his eyes in sleep. No 
matter how long and how well the citadel may have been 
guarded, he stands ready to enter at the first unwary mo- 
ment. And no sooner do we return to the joys of earth, 
after having been raised by sorrow to the sacred regions of 
heaven, than we are beset on every hand by his busy and 
untiring efforts to seize and lead us astray; and his very 
presence indicates the departure of trial and sadness, and 
the return of the careless and comfortable and real joys of 
earth. All this had come upon the Squire's family, who, 
while they were so happy, had become so human, and who 
wondered how a breeze could ever spring up in a calm so 
heavenly as that which followed the long days and eights 



ROOT CROPS. 259 

of anxiety and distress. The little irritations were very 
small and feeble and short-lived, and, as they showed that 
the child was safe and that the danger was past, they were 
all right. At any rate, so thought the Squire, when he 
recovered courage enough to snap up a stupid and annoy- 
ing client, and suddenly realized that he had gained strength 
enough to do it ; so thought the grandmother when she 
petulantly wondered how Fanny " could let that boy pull 
her best lace collar in pieces " ; so thought Fanny when 
she found that she herself and the Squire, and the grand- 
mother, and the boy had all returned to the common ways 
of life, and to that companionship whose waywardness and 
error often add flavor to its virtues, and give a brighter 
coloring to its beauties and charms. 

Dr. Parker still continued his daily calls. He was a 
creature of habit, and it was never easy for him to leave a 
familiar and long-travelled path. His mind and his heart 
were obedient to the same law. A train of thought he did 
not easily abandon ; a sentiment in his heart, without being 
warm, was not easily changed. And so he jogged on, 
asked every morning after the health of the boy, advised 
Fanny to take a little more air and exercise, bade " a very 
good morning " to the grandmother, and inquired after 
Clara Bell, how she was, if she had lately been seen, and 
what she appeared to be interested in. To Fanny he was 
especially confiding. He laid before her any new discov- 
ery to which his attention might have been called by his 
scientific correspondents ; he submitted to her every new 
theory ; he told her the uneventful but odd and curious 
story of his life ; he even deplored to her his weakness, and 
with a strange combination of anxiety to reform and pious 
pride in making his confession, he dwelt upon his folly and 
boasted at the same time of his humility and his wisdom. 

It was during one of these conversations that Dr. Parker, 
with that confidence which an unmarried man is very apt 



26o THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

to repose in a married woman, described, with a small 
degree of weak sentimentality quite usual on such occa- 
sions, his lonely and single hfe. He told Fanny how he 
had been shut out from female society in his youth, by the 
early death of his mother, and by his father's ambition that 
he should avoid all social amusements and devote himself 
to his books alone. He described one after another the 
phantoms of delight which had appeared for a time upon 
his vision and then vanished, leaving his life all the darker 
for the sudden and flashing illumination. He gave an 
account in touching phrase of his present loneliness, and 
bemoaned that hard lot which seemed to shut him away 
from the world, and close as a sealed volume the joys of 
life to his eye. 

"I cannot tell you, Fanny," said he, "how poor and mean 
all my attainments and prosperity seem before the one 
unfulfilled desire. I have been proud of my intimate rela- 
tions, with the learned and the great ; I have rejoiced in 
the society of my books ; I have felt that I had won my 
way by hard and constant study into the most cultivated 
associations ; and I have created for myself a world of my 
own, where I can feel that I am superior to those around 
me. But I have long felt that heaven without sun or star 
is no heaven at all ; and I have learned that no man can 
possibly fill his place in society until he has first estab- 
lished those relations without which society could not 
exist. Do you think Clara Bell loves me } " 

"Why, my dear Dr. Parker," said Fanny, "what are you 
talking about ? Clara Bell, you know perfectly well, is a 
warm-hearted, generous, affectionate creature, who could 
not understand that sentiment which is tempered and 
fashioned by thrift and duty. She could fall in love with 
a boy, but not with a deliberate and calculating man. I 
don't think Clara will marry either a profession or an 
occupation. And then, more than all this, she is afraid 
of you." 



ROOT CROPS. 261 

" What makes you think so ? " asked Dr. Parker. 

" Well," replied Fanny, " I have heard her, during the 
many days we have spent together these last few months, 
discuss almost everybody in Jotham, in her fresh, bright, 
and sparkling way, — the Schoolmaster, and Mr. Howe, 
and Mr. Hopkins, and Ruth Johnson, and Mrs. Howe, and 
you ; and all but you without restraint. But when I asked 
her what she thought of you, she always hesitated, and 
looked confused and troubled and bewildered." 

"You ought to know the cause of that. Mistress Fanny," 
said Dr. Parker. " Don't you know that maidens always 
speak tremblingly of those whom they love .'' " 

"Softly," said Fanny, "but not always tremblingly. And 
what makes you suppose Clara loves you } " 

"What makes you suppose she does not .-'" replied the 
Doctor. " How can a girl like her help admiring the char- 
acter and position of a man like myself.'' You must be 
mistaken, Fanny. Clara is n't a fool ; and her father can't 
live long, and she is n't going to waste herself on a no- 
body." 

" No, I do not think she is," said Fanny ; " nor is she 
going to waste herself on anybody. Clara is not a person 
to play the cipher for any man's arithmetic. Her lofty 
look is enough to inspire any one of your sex with respect, 
unless he has lost all power to respect anything ; and the 
kind of influence which she would naturally exert would 
almost make a man out of a mouse. Why, my beloved old 
father says she is the most sensible companion he ever 
knew; and, of course, all the wisdom comes from himself" 

"And do you really mean to tell me, Fanny, that this 
young woman, with her bright faculties and affectionate 
heart, is not to be influenced by superior culture, and by 
the kindness and courtesy which a man like myself can 
bestow on herself and her friends .'' " 

" Not by superior culture," said Fanny, "but by superior 



262 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

faculties ; not by an act of kindness, but by the impress of 
affection." 

" But I have been so long devoted to her," groaned out 
Dr. Parker. 

" O, that is all well enough to talk about," added 
Fanny ; " but you can't worry nor coax a woman like 
Clara into either love or obedience. You may call upon 
her to exercise all her patience under your annoyance, but 
you can never rouse her to love by persistent and torment- 
ing attention." 

" But do you really mean to tell me that this miller's 
daughter is going to defy me .'' " asked the Doctor; and his 
countenance assumed such an air of eager ferocity that 
even Fanny, who was not easily startled, began to be 
alarmed. 

" I don't think she will surrender to you," said Fanny, 
calmly ; " for I think another has surrendered to her." 

" The Schoolmaster } " asked Dr. Parker, pale with cha- 
grin and disappointment and jealous rage. 

" Now, Doctor," said Fanny, " T beg you to be reason- 
able. You expect this young girl to love you when, as 
you allow, you have made a monster of yourself in her 
presence, and have done nothing to elevate either herself 
or you above the ordinary sphere and associations of life. 
And you ought not to trifle with her. She never told me 
she loved the Schoolmaster ; but I ask you to judge for 
yourself how you would stand beside such a clear young 
life as his. You know how strong he is in all the attributes 
which make a superior and admirable man. And do you 
suppose for a moment that any temptation of position or 
wealth could interfere with the natural and spontaneous 
affection which a noble young girl would feel for such an 
one as he } You ought to be grateful that Clara has found 
such peace. You think you have conceived what it is ; 
then rejoice with her that she has reached it. I know 



ROOT CROPS. 263 

what life is without it, and with the commonplace relations 
which duty and judgment can create ; and I thank God 
that no such trial lies before her. I have never heard her 
say she loved the Schoolmaster ; but I know she ought not 
to love you." 

Dr. Parker listened to Fanny's calm and unruffled ex- 
pression of opinion upon a subject vital to him with aston- 
ishment. He was not prepared for a positive and judicial 
view of the case from a young woman whom he had been 
in the habit of looking upon as a child; and it was a 
revelation to him that a woman could be anything but a 
bundle of impulses and sentiments and "latent evolutions." 
He was fretted and exasperated by the humane and kindly 
sagacity manifested by Fanny, and he struggled in every 
direction to escape from the toils with which she had in- 
sensibly surrounded him. He had discovered that what 
he had supposed to be a deep and vital attachment was in 
her eyes nothing but a freak ; and when he examined it 
under the light she shed upon it, he arrived at about the 
same conclusion himself His pride was deeply wounded, 
too. He had made a bungling confession to a niediator 
from whom he had received no comfort ; he had destroyed 
all the chance he ever had with Clara herself, by calling a 
third person into his councils ; he had betrayed his weak- 
ness and temper; and he had measured lances with a mere 
girl, as he called her, and had been beaten in the contest. 
To stop where he was would be to leave matters in a very 
bad position. To find his way out was not an easy matter. 
And there he was, — an accomplished, cultivated, intel- 
lectual scholar, — groping about where he had no business 
to be, and baffled at every turn, because he was endeavor- 
ing to explore with the powers of his mind what he should 
have submitted to the impulses of his heart. And so he 
revolved and raged, until he reached a condition of mind 
and body similar to that into which he had sometimes been 



264 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

thrown by a long-continued debauch, — a tendency to 
which under any form of excitement had undoubtedly been 
produced by his habits of life. At last he grew violent, 
paced the room, muttered some ver}^ hard language, 
and, suddenly turning on Fanny, exclaimed : " My God ! 
I can't and I won't bear this ; there is one way out at 
least." 

" Not for you to travel, however," said Fanny, coolly, 
who began to be alarmed lest her own room should be the 
scene of a sudden and unexpected tragedy, and who had 
been told often by William Jones that the best way to 
prevent or remove a horse's terror is not to be terrified 
yourself. 

" Now, Fanny," said the Doctor, " this is cruel. Sud- 
denly and unexpectedly my weakness and ignorance have 
dawned upon me, and all my little dream has vanished. 
But then that damned Schoolmaster, — excuse me, Fanny, 
— that he, with nothing but his untrained natural en- 
dowments, should have outstripped myself, with my at- 
tainments, — this is intolerable. I don't believe he has 
outstripped me, Fanny, do you .'' What do you know 
about it, anyhow } But let the babies go ; the School- 
master and the silly girl. She may be well enough, for 
anything I know, but 

' If she be not fair for me, 
What care I how fair she be ? ' 

And now, Fanny, let us drop these young and inex- 
perienced persons ; and leaving them to their fate, let us 
walk hand in hand along the path of life. My bewildered 
brain is restoring itself, and the dark and dreadful design 
which just now possessed it is gradually passing away. 
There is a heaven open still for us, I am sure. And may 
we not rise together above the sorrows and disappoint- 
ments of life, and console and sustain each other.'* Fanny, 



ROOT CROPS, 265 

I must have a home. Will you not join me, and fill that 
place made vacant by the wayward and wandering Clara ? 
I will be a father to that boy ; and I will be a — " 

"O doctor," said Fanny, "stop; pray do! This is a 
little too much. But eight months a widow ; what would 
the people say .-• And then, to take Clara's place, — why, 
that would be ridiculous. Come, now ; don't be childish. 
You are well enough off as you are. Think of the scien- 
tific correspondence, and the turtles and the books and the 
Medical Society, and the library and the patients and the 
Club ; could man have more "i Come, my dear old gallipot, 
clear up and cheer up, and don't despair, with the blessings 
of Heaven all around you." 

Dr. Parker was more bewildered than ever. Fanny had 
literally driven him off the ground. He was enraged, 
ashamed, and disgusted, and, seizing his hat, he rushed 
from the house and made his way home. 

"I guess the Doctor's wuss 'n ever," said Peter Ilsley, as 
he reached home toward evening, after a long day in the 
woods. " I see him, this arternoon, driving like fury away 
down towards Pilfershire ; did n't seem to see anybody ; 
head down ; mare goin' like a shot out of a gun." 

" I do wish he 'd let Clara Bell alone," said Mrs. Ilsley. 

"So do I," said Peter; "and I wish he 'd keep away from 
the Club, too. He don't say much, but he kind o' roiles up 
the whole concern when he 's there. I wish I knew what 
the devil ails him." 

The repose of the village was in no way broken by the 
domestic incidents of the Doctor and the Schoolmaster and 
the two charming young women. Charles Ingalls was 
bound to keep his secret, and Clara did keep hers. And as 
for Dr. Parker and Fanny, there was no temptation for 
them to divulge their strange and weak experience to any- 
body ; and so the aftair found not its way into the ordinary 
current of village gossip. 



266 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

When, therefore, the Club was called together again at 
Mr. Hopkins's, every member came in his usual condition, 
and with his understanding of his associates unchanged. 
It was on a disagreeable, drizzling, thawy evening that 
the Association assembled, and the warm welcome of Mr. 
Hopkins was especially agreeable. He had settled back 
into his country ways after his city experience, and rub- 
bing his hands before his fire he inquired of Jones about 
his horses, and Ilsley about his cows, and Barnes after the 
fruit-buds, and old Mr. Eaton about his maul and the 
opening of spring for the pastures. And when all were 
seated he announced that the schoolmaster, Mr. Charles 
Ingalls, would open the discussion with an essay on 

ROOT CROPS. 

The subject of Root Crops, Gentlemen, occupied so much of 
our attention at the last meeting, that there is but little left to 
discuss at the present time. We indeed considered the two 
most important roots which the farmer can cultivate, — the turnip 
and the mangold, — leaving but little to be said for such other 
crops as are included under this head. At this I am not sur- 
prised. I look upon the cultivation of the turnip as the most 
important branch of this business, — a branch which, if properly 
pursued, may remove the necessity of all others. Were I called 
on to select that root which could least be spared from the long 
list of farm crops, I should select the turnip. It is easily culti- 
vated, and is useful as food to all our graminivorous domestic 
animals. So important is it in England, that even the history 
of its introduction is interesting. We are told that " according 
to the name given to the plant in England, the Swedes are 
natives of Sweden ; the Italian name Navoui de Lapoiiia inti- 
mates an origin in Lapland ; and the French names Chou de 
Lapone^ Chou de Suede, would indicate an uncertain origin." Sir 
John Sinclair says : " I am informed that the Swedes w^ere first 
introduced into Scotland in 1721-22, on the recommendation 



ROOT CROPS. 267 

of Mr. Knox, a native of East Lothian, who had settled at Got- 
tenburg, whence he sent some of the seeds to Mr. Hamilton. 
There is no doubt they were first introduced into Scotland from 
Sweden, but I believe their introduction was prior to the date 
mentioned. The late Mr. Airth, Mains of Dunn, Forfarshire, 
informed me that his father was the first farmer who cultivated 
Swedes in Scotland, from seeds sent him by his eldest son, then 
settled in Gottenburg, when my informant, the youngest son of 
a large family, was a boy of about ten years of age. This would 
make the date of their introduction 1777 ; and this date is cor- 
roborated by the silence preserved by Mr. Wight regarding the 
culture of such a crop by Mr. Airth's father when he undertook 
the survey of the state of husbandry in Scotland, in 1773, at the 
request of the Commissioners of the Annexed Estates, and when 
he would not have failed to notice so remarkable a circumstance 
as the culture of the Swede. Mr. Airth sowed the first portion of 
the seed he received in the garden in beds, and transplanted the 
plants in rows in the field, and thus succeeded in raising a good 
crop for years before sowing the seed directly in the fields. I 
have not been able to trace the history of the yellow turnip ; 
but it is probable that it originated as supposed by Professor 
Low, in a cross between a white and the Swede, and, as the 
name implies, this may have been in Aberdeenshire. All the 
white varieties of field turnips obtained at first the name of 
' Norfolk Whites,' from the circumstance of their having been 
cultivated to any extent in that county by Lord Townshend, 
who, on coming home from being Ambassador to the States- 
General, in 1730, paid great attention to their culture, and for 
which service he obtained the appellation of * Turnip Towns- 
hend.' It is rather remarkable that no turnips should have 
been raised in England in the fields until the end of the seven- 
teenth century, when it was lauded as a field-root as long ago 
' as Columella, and in his time even the Gauls fed their cattle on 
them in winter. The Romans were so well acquainted with tur- 
nips that Pliny mentions having raised them of forty pounds' 
weio-ht. Turnips were cultivated in the gardens in England at 
the time of Henry VHL Dale's hybrid originated in a few 



268 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

ounces of a hybridal seed being sent in 1822 or 1823 by the late 
Mr. Sheriff of Bastleridge, Berwickshire, to Mr. Robert Dale, 
Libberton, West Mains, near Edinburgh, who, by repeated 
selection and impregnation, brought it to what it is, a good yel- 
low turnip, and now pretty generally cultivated. The Lawtown 
hybrid originated about eight or ten years ago by Captain 
Wright of Lawtown, in Forfarshire, crossing the green-topped 
white with the green-topped Swede, to harden the white, which 
object proved successful, but its culture has not been pushed. 
By sowing the Swede beside the white Lawtown, the latter has 
been converted into a yellow turnip, possessing the properties 
of the Swede ; and were the cross still further pushed I have no 
doubt that a distinct variety of the Swede would be obtained. 
A variety of Swedes was brought into notice about four or five 
years ago by Mr. Laing, Daddo, Northumberland, who found it 
among his ordinary Swedes, and observed it by its remarkably 
elegant form of leaf, which is much notched near the base. It 
is getting into use, and possesses the valuable property of resist- 
ing the effects of spring for at least a fortnight longer than the 
common varieties, as I had a favorable opportunity of observing 
in Berwickshire, late in the spring of 1841, and on this account 
may be stored and kept in a fresh state to a very late period of 
the season." 

I have given this long and elaborate sketch of the introduc- 
tion of the Swede into England, because I estimate its value 
very highly, and I am anxious to interest you in its cultivation. 
I have seen those who were ignorant of the meaning of the very 
name Swede, and often confounded it with some form of beet. 
The /^ri'^;;^'/ sketch I have given of this root will, I hope, serve 
to remove this confusion. The care with which the Swede has 
been cultivated, and the skill displayed in crossing the different 
varieties in order to obtain the best, the heaviest, and least per- 
ishable, will satisfy any inquiring mind that where it is best 
known it is marked at its highest value. I trust I may be 
allowed, therefore, to urge once more its cultivation by the 
members of this Club, and by the large and enterprising com- 
munity of farmers in this vicinity. 



ROOT CROPS. 269 

Next in importance to the turnip and the mangold stands the 
carrot. I have not learned that this root is maintaining its 
reputation in the farming community, although it is still very 
generally cultivated, inasmuch as it commands a good price in 
the market, and is by some still considered a valuable food for 
horses. But the Swede is rapidly taking its place, as a root 
more easily cultivated, and more useful for all purposes of feed- 
ing cattle and horses. The carrot is said to produce an un- 
healthy condition of the secretory functions of the horse, when 
it is fed liberally and for any length of time. It often brings on 
a cutaneous disease, not very severe in its character, but enough 
to indicate an unhealthy condition of the system ; it excites 
the kidneys to such undue action as to weaken the animal, and 
creates a tendency to swelling in the legs. It seems to be less 
thought of than formerly as food for cattle. It is not now 
claimed for it that it increases the flow of milk, or is useful for 
the purposes of fattening. At any rate, on these two points it 
stands far below the Swede, and it is mainly prized by those 
who use it as food for their dairy cows, that it improves the 
color of the butter and perhaps enhances the quality of the 
milk. 

The cultivation of carrots is not easy work. The land on 
which they are sown should be a rich, warm, somewhat sandy 
loam, well and deeply ploughed, and pulverized as finely as can 
be done with the best harrow. In fact, for the best cultivation 
the land should be ploughed with a Michigan plough, and each 
furrow raked fine and smooth as fast as made. In this way the 
field can be brought to the best condition for receiving the seed. 
This preparation should be made as early in the season as pos- 
sible, as soon as the frost is entirely out of the ground, and the 
subsoil has become freed from any excess of water. This con- 
dition of the soil will generally occur from the loth to the 15th 
of May, and then is the time for sowing the carrot. 

Carrots require a great deal of manure. The best cultivators 
use from eight to ten cords to the acre, spread broadcast, 
ploughed in at the first ploughing, eight cords being about 
twenty-four cart-loads of forty bushels each. The manure 



270 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

should be thoroughly decomposed, the use of green, manure 
causing a tendency in the root to divide and grow with great 
irregularity. Barn-yard manure will answer a very good pur- 
pose, but if kelp and mussel-bed and ashes can be obtained 
they will be found very ustful. The manure, whatever it is, 
should be very fine and thoroughly incorporated with the soil. 

The seed should be sown with a reliable seed-sower in rows 
about fourteen inches apart ; and the plants should be thinned 
in the rows so as to stand about two inches apart. From the 
first appearance of the plant until it is quite well grown it 
needs watching. No crop suffers more from weeds than the 
carrot, and at no time should these pests be allowed to accumu- 
late, or attain any considerable size. The first hoeing and 
weeding will always be a difficult job. The seeds germinate 
slowly, and the young plants are so small that great attention is 
necessary to bring forward the crop in thriving condition. Usu- 
ally an early hoeing with the wheel-hoe, followed by three or 
four hoeings with either the wheel or common hoe, and then 
weedings with the hand, will carry the crop beyond the danger 
of weeds. But the work is at all times difficult and recjuires 
young and strong backs, nimble fingers, and tough and well- 
armed knees. It is a species of horizo?ital agriculture which I 
would not urge upon the considerate or judicious farmer. 

The carrot on well-prepared and suitable soil yields a large 
crop. The root has great power for penetrating the soil, and it 
has been known to reach the depth of two or three feet when 
grown on trenched land. Colonel Timothy Pickering reports a 
crop of 680 bushels to the: acre, raised in his day and in his 
neighboihood. I find reports of 251 bushels on forty-three and 
one half rods of land, 290 pounds to the square rod, 318^ 
pounds to the square rod, and 103 bushels from one eighth of 
an acre. Six hundred bushels to the acre is evidently a good 
crop. 

The harvesting of the carrot is a comparatively easy business. 
The tops can be cut from them as they stand in the rows with a 
sharp hoe ; a plough can be used to turn them up out of the 
ground, and with a five-tined manure-fork they can be taken 



ROOT CROPS. 271 

from the loosened earth. They should be harvested about the 
20th of October, and in no case should they be exposed to 
freezing. It is a good plan to pile them in heaps in the field, 
cover them with tops, and leave them for a day before carting 
into the cellar. So much for the carrot. 

I have found a disposition in some quarters to recommend 
the parsnip as a field crop. I do not think this judicious. The 
parsnip is a difficult root to raise ; it is apt to wilt in the cellar, 
and seldom yields a crop large enough to compete in any degree 
with either the Swede or the mangold, or even with the carrot. 
I have, however, before me one intelligent and well-drawn state- 
ment of its cultivation, which I submit, and leave you to judge 
of its value. It is given by Mr. Willard Howe of Danvers, 
Mass. He says : — 

" The half-acre of land on which the parsnips were grown is 
a light sandy loam and has been previously used (eighteen or 
twenty years) for onions. It was sown one of these years one- 
half to carrots and the other half to onions. The onions failed ; 
it was then set with cabbages. The yield of parsnips on the 
half where cabbages grew was seventeen bushels, the land and 
manure being equal. 

" The manure used was composed of equal parts of stable 
manure, night soil, and spent tan ; well-mixed and fermented 
manure spread and ploughed in, and fitted as for carrots or 
onions. 

"Seed sown 17th of May with a machine; the rows seven- 
teen inches apart, and the plants thinned to about three inches. 

" Harvested by ploughing two furrows away from the row, 
with the side-hill plough, the last furrow deep and close to the 
row, — with two horses ; then they are dug easily with spade or 
shovel. In all, 313 bushels of 45 pounds each, 299 of nearly 
even size fit for family use. . They will be for sale in February 
and March, and we hope to obtain the same price as last year, 
— % r.50 per barrel. 

"In calculating the expense of the crop, I have charged $ 1.25 
for men, $ 1.50 for horse per day, and what it costs for boys' 
labor. 



272 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

" Expense of crop : — 

Hauling manure and spreading and ploughing . % 5.25 

Hoeing and weeding . 5.73 

4 cords of manure at $ 7 per cord .... 28.00 

Land rent 6.00 

I5 pounds of seed 1.25 

Harvesting, eight days ...... 10.00 

Total % 56.25 

Credit by 100 barrels at $ 1.50 per barrel . . % 150.00 

14 bushels at twenty cents per bushel . . . 2.80 

% 152.80 
Balance in favor of crop $96.55." 

You can judge from this statement whether the parsnip is a 
profitable field crop and one which ought to receive your atten- 
tion. 

I have occupied too much of your time, Gentlemen, in dis- 
cussing the question assigned me ; and I can only hope that I 
have presented facts which will provoke debate and will lead 
to still more important investigation. 

. "Mr. President," said Peter Ilsley, "I think the School- 
master has told us all we want to know about root crops. 
Y(ju can go too far with 'em. When grain is cheap, you 
don't want to go too deep into the root business. Just 
enough for the health of your cattle, is my maxim. And 
now I don't believe I would discuss root crops any more, 
Mr. President, would ye .-' or would ye .-• " 

" I move we adjourn," piped old Mr. Eaton. 

And so the Club adjourned, and each man went his way. 

" The Schoolmaster wears well, does n't he .'' " said Mr. 
Howe to Mr. Hopkins, as they lingered after the assembly 
had dispersed. 

" Very well," replied Mr. Hopkins. " He will make his 
mark, I am convinced. But pray tell me, where is Dr. 
Parker .^ I have not seen him for many days." 



ROOT CROPS. 273 

" I don't exactly know," said Mr. Howe ; " but somehow 
I have an idea that he is at the crisis of his life ; and 
whether he will go up or down, no man can tell. God help 
him ! " 

And the two gentlemen parted. 



18 



2/4 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 



NINETEENTH MEETING. 
GRAIN CROPS. 

POLITICAL REFORM. —THE GROCERY. — PETER ILSLEY SHOWS HIM- 
SELF.— JOHN THOMAS AND HIS FAMILY SLANDERED. 

" The stormy March has come at last, 

With wind, and cloud, and changing skies : 
I hea!r the rushing of the blast, 
Which through the snowy valley flies." 

As the spring approached, an unexpected pubUc difficulty 
arose in Jotham, which for a time suspended the meetings 
of the Club, and threatened not only the peace and happi- 
ness of the community, but the very existence of the Club 
itself The municipal month of New England, the " stormy 
March," the month of tempests and town-meetings, was ap- 
proaching. In Jotham the annual town election had never 
been exciting ; the appropriations were always small ; the 
schools were not expensive ; the highways were kept in 
repair by the citizens, who "worked out their taxes," and 
" mended the roads " as soon as seed-time was over, by 
ploughing the roadsides and shovelling the broken sods 
and loam with great unevenness into the carriage-path ; 
there were no destructive and swelling mountain streams 
to bridge ; there was no town-hall to repair, the meeting- 
house being used for this purpose ; there were no official 
salaries to provide for. The municipality was a model of 
harmony and economy, and had been so for years. The 
line of town clerks did not number over half a dozen from 
the beginning of the record. To three or four families had 
been intrusted the duties of the Board of Selectmen, and 



GRAIN CROPS. 275 

the members of the board had changed only with the 
changing generations. A poHtical excitement in the town 
was almost unknown, except at a Presidential election, or 
during a great party revolution in the State, in which the 
issues were made up outside, and brought into the town 
by the self-sacrificing gentlemen who were busy in intro- 
ducing them into public affairs, and laying upon them their 
own foundations. 

But this political repose was not to continue forever. 
Peter Ilsley had long looked with envious eye upon the 
calm and substantial prosperity of John Thomas, who was 
the Chairman of the Board of Selectmen, as his father and 
grandfather had been before him ; and he had also watched 
with that eternal vigilance, without which popular freedom 
is always lost, the air of inborn authority which had set- 
tled down upon this heir to the chief magistracy of the 
town. He remembered, too, the irritating and chafing 
discussions he had held with him in the Club. He sur- 
veyed the well-proportioned and well-painted farm-build- 
ings, the neat fences, the well-ordered fields, the thrifty 
orchards, the sleek and well-fed cattle, which gave a pecul- 
iar charm to John Thomas's home ; and as he could not 
account for all this satisfactory scene so in contrast, as it 
was, with his own disorderly premises and unprofitable 
farming, on any apparent grounds of heavier crops or bet- 
ter markets, he began to entertain the thought that some- 
where and somehow, and at some time, the Thomas family 
had secured by some questionable practice an ample prop- 
erty, and had concealed it where the eye of the tax-gath- 
erer had not yet reached it. He had heard of rings and 
jobs, and how could he be assured that a long possession 
of power, even in Jotham, would not lead to profitable cor- 
ruption .'' He knew by observation that " miller's hogs are 
always fat " ; and so he forgot that prosperity and thrift, 
with the substantial qualities which attend them, are very 



276 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

often the cause of official prominence, and are not always 
the consequence. He was satisfied that the public service 
demanded a change, and that the career of John Thomas 
must be checked. And so for a time he forgot the Club, 
and Dr. Parker's eccentricities, Clara Bell, and the School- 
master, and all their associations, and turned his attention 
to the work of public reform. 

But Peter Ilsley was not recognized as a reformer in 
Jotham. That he was honest as this world goes, and gave 
good measure, and had a rough sense of justice, nobody 
doubted. But he was oftener found salting his cattle in 
his pastures on Sunday morning than listening to the ser- 
mons of Mr. Howe ; he always led the rough and dissatis- 
fied element, if there was any, at town-meeting ; he had 
even been heard to swear in the presence of the minister ; 
he was fond of arguing on finance with Mr. Hopkins, and 
on theology with Mr. Howe, and on law with Squire 
Wright, whom, in his own mind, he left dead on the field ; 
he quoted Jeft'erson a good deal and Tom Paine a little ; 
he had strong passions and prejudices, and ardent opin- 
ions, in obedience to which he often wandered away into 
new and untried paths, and formed new and not always 
congenial associations ; he was bright enough to be a most 
excellent member of society, but he was not bright enough 
to know that the community could weigh his motives, and 
could distinguish between an imperious spirit and a reform- 
atory spirit, — between high tone and high temper. It 
was very easy for this man to clamor about public corrup- 
tion ; he knew that the good men would approve, and that 
the bad nien would join him in the cry ; and he knew that 
one public man was just as good as another for a victim, if 
any advantage was to be derived from his downfall. 

Peter Ilsley was one of the regular evening visitors at 
the village grocery. The motley crowd who gathered 
there after the labor of the day was over always welcomed 



GRAIN CROPS. 



27; 



his coming as a signal for some lively talk upon the current 
topics of the day. One old man sat apart in a remote cor- 
ner, his chair tipped back against the wall, his hat drawn 




over his eyes ; he was 
oracular. Another, 
who had once repre- 
sented the town in 
the General Court, 
was never wearied 
with reciting the 
personal events of 
the session, and the 
intimacy which he 
formed with the distinguished men of the Commonwealth, in 
whose ranks he felt that he could be counted ; he was a bore. 
Another was full of anecdotes of the old clergymen of the 
county, and could give long quotations from their occa- 



THE GROCERY AND ITS HAlilTUES. 



2/8 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

sional sermons ; he was considered as one of the pillars of 
the church. Another remembered the Oakes cow, and he 
was especially learned in his discussion of the various 
breeds of cattle, and especially tedious in his story of a 
calf which he raised when a boy, and whose early life was 
so full of incidents, that the biographer had never found an 
evening long enough to reach that period of life when the 
calf stopped and the cow began ; the fact that he had 
owned a cow made him tolerable. One was authority on 
hogs, another on horses, another on the domestic affairs of 
the town, and another on the most highly flavored scandal 
of the day. No one of them was given to very hard labor,, 
although they all had small estates in various parts of the 
town, from which they procured a meagre subsistence, with 
the help of what they could earn by hoeing and haying 
and chopping wood and laying stone-wall. They were 
looked upon as useful men in their way ; they held a 
respectable enough position in the town, had places as- 
signed them among the various town offices, were listened 
to in town-meeting, were considered as a part of the society 
of the place, and maintained such friendly and equal rela- 
tions with their more prominent neighbors, that no feeling 
of dissatisfaction or jealousy had ever entered their hearts, 
and no idea of asserting their rights had ever entered their 
minds. They were by no means the dull and unintel- 
lectual portion of the community. They had a fine oppor- 
tunity to waylay the newspapers which came to the post- 
office, — a primitive affair kept behind the grocery counter, 
— and they read their contents with rapidity and eagerness 
before they were distributed among the subscribers. In 
fact, the old grocery was the reading-room of the town, as 
well as the resort of the liveliest debating-club ; and while 
the cheerful parlor of Mr. Hopkins had great charms, and 
the organization which assembled there had great wisdom, 
it was in the dingy little "store" that all important ques- 



GRAIN CROPS. 279 

tions were discussed ; and the sharp sayings were perhaps 
too freely circulated by the independent assemblies scat- 
tered about its dimly lighted corners and its dilapidated 
counters. 

"A gallon of West India molasses and a pound of tea," 
said John Thomas to the grocer, one stormy winter even- 
ing, after he had stamped the snow from his boots at the 
door, and paid his respects to the assembly already gath- 
ered for the usual evening services. 

Had he been less occupied with his business he would 
have noticed an awkward stillness among his friends as he 
joined them, and a little difficulty in renewing the conver- 
sation, which was going briskly on when he entered the 
room. But his stay was short, his molasses and tea were 
soon provided for him, and he left a good word behind, 
and started for his bright home and the thrifty and busy 
Huldah. 

" The devil is always near when you 're talking about 
him," said Peter Ilsley, as John Thomas vanished. " But 
what is it about the boy. Uncle Josh 1 " 

The oracular gentleman in the corner, with his hat pulled 
over his eyes, replied deliberately : " Well, I don't know. 
But they used to say, and they do say now, that the old 
man, John's grandsir, was a pretty violent old customer. 
He was a captain ; I just remember him. In the Revolu- 
tionary war he lived through and fought through every 
campaign. It was he who footed it home from Valley 
Forge, and drove back a load of provisions which his 
neighbors here sent to the soldiers. John has got the 
head-stall now, which the old man made out of damaged 
knapsacks when he lost his own in the camp. He was 
tough and smart ; was a good farmer, always had money, 
and built the L part of the house that John now lives 
in. He had a temper like a tiger, and was as strong as 
a moose. No man ever o-ot him down in the wrestling:- 



28o THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

ring, town-meeting days ; and there was n't a man within 
a hundred miles of this place whom he could not lay on his 
back in a minute. As much as seventy years ago he had 
a boy bound to him, — a Purvis boy, born down in the 
woods at the foot of Bald Hill, — a kind of a clever boy, 
not very smart and not very bad. All at once, along about 
the middle of June, the boy was missed. The last time he 
was seen, he was going down into the field on the edge of 
the pond, with his hoe on his shoulder; and neither boy 
nor hoe was ever seen again. The old Captain said he 
guessed he had run away, and gone home to Bald Hill. 
But he did n't turn up there ; and then he said he must be 
drowned in the pond. At last it began to be suspected 
that in a passion the Captain had struck the boy and killed 
him. And stories were told for many years of an old well 
in a back pasture which had been filled up, — nobody knew 
when ; and nobody knew exactly where the well was to be 
found. Two or three times the people turned out to find 
it, and I remember when I was a little fellow following a 
crowd on this business. This was after the Captain died. 
They dug and dug, and cut down trees, and tore up bushes, 
until John's father, who then owned the farm, ordered them 
to quit, and threatened to sue them for trespass if they did 
not. No well, nor any sign of a well, was ever found ; no 
boy, and no hoe. But somehow the old folks believed the 
story ; and once good old Minister Hopkins seriously asked 
the Captain if, in a moment of passion, he did not really 
strike the boy dead. The Captain looked at the minister, 
looked on the ground, said nothing, and went away. And 
I believe everybody in town was sure he was guilty, for 
nobody had ever failed before that time to tell Minister 
Hopkins the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the 
truth, when asked. I don't know how all this may be, 
but I 'm glad enough that old Captain Thomas was n't my 
grandfather." 



GRAIN CROPS. 28 1 

The story was not new, but it seemed to have new force, 
and as it came in slow and deliberate measure from the 
lazy lips of the oracular old man, it seemed to produce an 
unusual effect upon the audience. 

" Rather bad blood," said Peter Ilsley ; " and they do 
say that ' what is bred in the bone will come out at the 
skin.' " 

" They used to say old Squire Sam, John's father, was 
no saint," added the ex-representative. " And when I was 
in the General Court I used to hear about Squire Sam's 
vote making a governor, and about the pay he got for it, 
— a commission as sheriff or justice of the peace." 

" He was a sheriff one while," said the grocer ; " and 
they say the good, round fees used to roll into his jDocket 
like dropping stones into an old well." 

" John 's honest," said Peter Ilsley, scrutinizing the little 
crowd, to see how the remark took. 

" I don't know about that," replied the biographer of the 
Oakes cow ; " he stuck me like sixty once on a cow trade ; 
put me a farrow cow, and a breachy one at that, with a 
calf three weeks old by her side, and a bag as big as a 
Shaker bucket ; had n't been milked for two days. He 
said he sold her just as he bought her, and he was so awful 
smooth about it that I never could get anything out of 
him." 

" Now, this won't do," said the pillar of the church, 
" John Thomas is as honest a man as lives in Jotham. 
He always goes to meeting, sends his children to the 
Sunday school, has the minister to tea Thanksgiving 
days, and pays what he owes. If John Thomas is n't a 
good citizen, there are n't any." 

" How about that poor beef and bad butter that he sent 
to the poorhouse last spring .'' " asked the cow-dealer. 

" I have no doubt that Thomas is honest enough," said 
Peter Ilsley. "He has a stiff way about him that I don't 



282 



THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 



like, and then he has made the minister and Squire Wright 
and Dr. Parker and the Schoolmaster all believe in him, 
and that 's enough. But I think it would be a pretty good 





plan to inquire into the doings of the 

(^/ selectmen ft)r the last few years. I 

'y know when I was on the board, five 

)Lars ago, we were full easy enough 

about the poorhouse bills. Nobody 

ever asked where the provisions came 

tiom, or who supplied the lumber, or 

how much the labor-bills were. Bill 

Stevens the keeper said it was all right, 

and Thomas said Stevens was right, and 

r the rest of us had nothing to say about 

It. I never exactly dared to say that 

Thomas and Stevens divided, but I 

never could swear that they did n't. 

At the same time, I suppose I might 

have found out when I was on the board. 

But then, I thought if Thomas wanted 

"^!;^i> /*y^i^^''21'l^ to get into a scrape, it was none of my 

,(0m/ AV \'^^ business. We did n't any of us attend 

^ ' to our duty over and above well. 

A COKNUELD ^^ ^ , , _, „ . , , 

Look here, reter, said the grocer, 
" I think you have gone about far enough on that line. 






^tJm 



GRAIN CROPS. 283 

John Thomas always said you were a first-rate officer, and 
looked out sharp for the town expenses, and saw that all 
the vouchers were properly examined and filed. Now, 
if you are going to black yourself for the sake of blacking 
him, it seems to me that you '11 come out at the little end 
of the horn." 

" Well, I don't know but I shall," said Peter ; " but how 
many days' work of his cattle on the road did Thomas 
charge for last summer? For one, I think these things 
had better be overhauled, let the blow fall where it may." 

The loungers around the " store " now began to gather 
themselves up to depart. They felt a little ashamed of the 
turn their talk had taken, and they felt annoyed at Peter 
Ilsley, and a little disgusted with the spirit he had mani- 
fested. They were glad that it was not daylight when 
they went forth ; and they rejoiced that under the cover 
of darkness they could reach their homes without meeting 
John Thomas, or Mr. Howe, or Mr. Hopkins, or their wives 
and daughters. They wondered how far this thing was 
going, — and they hastened home to bed. 

Meanwhile Mr. Howe and John Thomas had made up 
their minds that it was time for another meeting of the 
Club. They therefore issued a call for the following week, 
and selected as a subject for debate, Grain Crops. 

The Club assembled with great promptness, and with an 
evident feeling of satisfaction that its interests were not to 
be neglected, nor its existence endangered, by any outside 
controversies. Mr. Hopkins received the members with 
unusual cordiality, and manifested a marked kindness to 
John Thomas, the reason for which that gentleman could 
not imagine, ignorant as he was of the trial he was to meet 
at the hands of Peter Ilsley and his followers. The dis- 
cussion was opened by the President, who selected Indian 
corn as the most important grain for the consideration of 
the American farmer. 



284 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 



MR. HOPKINS ON INDIAN CORN, 

Maize, or Indian corn, is perhaps the most important crop 
raised in America. Adapted to local wants and immediate con- 
sumption, it occupies also an important place in our domestic 
and foreign commerce ; and, while cotton brings us to the great 
manufacturing countries of the world, and lies at the foundation 
of that export trade upon which our financial prosperity depends, 
corn enters so largely into our domestic economy as food- for 
both men and animals, that it may properly be called the cor- 
ner-stone of our agriculture. Colonel Taylor, a sagacious and 
intelligent Virginia farmer, once said : " Indian corn may be cor- 
rectly called meal, meadow, and manure ; it produces more food 
for man, beast, and the earth than any other farinaceous plant. 
And so valuable is it, that if the discovery of America had done 
no more than to bring this plant to light and introduce it into 
the list of great farm crops, this of itself would be sufficient 
to immortalize Columbus and his adventurous companions. 
From America it has spread everywhere, — into all latitudes 
where the summer sun gives even sixty days of warm weather, 
and where a quick and rich soil feeds the rapidly growing plant. 
Evidently tropical in its nature, it accommodates itself to Can- 
ada and Georgia alike. It has taken so high a rank among the 
crops of Turkey that on the continent of Europe it is called 
Ble de Tiirgue, and I have found it the common food of the 
Neapolitan peasant, under the name of Grana del Turco. In 
Germany I have seen it cultivated as a house plant and admired 
as a rare and beautiful product of the Southern soil." 

The question whether corn can be profitably raised in New 
England I do not propose to discuss at length. Here it may be 
counted, I doubt not, rather as an attendant than as a staple crop. 
Considering the usual market price of corn coming from the 
Western cornfields, with which the farmer can fill his granary, it 
would be idle to devote land suited both by quality and location 
to market gardening and root crops, to the growing of corn. 
But on remote lands, on farms somewhat removed from the 
market, corn may properly be made one of the standard crops. 



GRAIN CROPS. 285 

As part of a rotation also, which is to end in grass, the corn crop 
is most valuable, especially if it immediately precedes the sow- 
ing of the grass. 

The soil best adapted to corn is a warm loam. I say a warm 
loam, for although corn will accommodate itself to a cold soil 
and a cold climate, it is a plant which especially requires heat 
for its highest perfection. It will not even vegetate in soil 
whose temperature is less than 55°. And if it is exposed to the 
malign influences of a cold and wet soil, it will never recover, 
no matter how favorable the season may be. A corn crop may 
be injured as much by the effects of a cold soil upon the seed 
as by an early autumnal frost. Corn should never be planted, 
therefore, until the atmosphere has been tempered by summer 
heat and the soil has been well warmed by the early summer 
sun. It should be planted at such a time and in such a soil 
that it will germinate at once, and start forth in life with a 
strong and healthy green color. A yellow and stunted growth 
in the corn crop is never followed by a vigorous and profitable 
maturity. It is heat, then, which corn requires, — a warm soil 
and warm weather. It is only under fortunate circumstances 
like these that a great crop can be raised ; and it is only by the 
observance of this law that the average yield of corn in any 
locality can be brought to the highest degree. 

The preparation of the soil for corn planting is simple, and 
similar to that required by the other common field crops. If 
stubble land is to be used it should be thoroughly pulverized 
by one early and one later spring ploughing. If, however, sod- 
land is to be used, it should be ploughed immediately before the 
planting, and the furrow set at an angle of forty-five degrees, in 
order to secure a proper and necessary circulation of the air 
through the soil during the early growing of the corn, and in 
order to provide for the most effective application of manure, to 
which I shall allude hereafter. The land should not be ploughed 
in the autumn with any idea that this will be a substitute for 
spring ploughing, but only in heavy stubble land as a valuable 
preliminary to the cultiv\ation of the next year. Nor should the 
manure be applied in the autumn unless you are willing to lose 



286 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

one half of that stimulating power which corn especially de- 
mands of its fertilizers. 

Corn is one of the crops to which green, undecayed barn-yard 
manure can be profitably applied. I have spoken of the use of 
sod-land for the corn crop ; and it is to land of this description 
that green manure may be applied with great advantage. If 
you will spread the manure broadcast upon the land just before 
ploughing, and turn your sod upon it, not flat, but at the angle 
I have designated, you will prepare for the most rapid and sud- 
den decomposition during those very weeks in which the corn 
grows most vigorously. The bed which you have thus prepared 
for rootlets when they are engaged in their busiest operation 
is the best that can be conceived of. The heat of the active 
decomposition, the fortunate combination of decaying vegetable 
matter and manure, and the texture of the crumbling sod, all 
combine to make this mode of fertilizing especially applicable 
to the corn crop. It should be borne in mind that, in addition 
to the manure ploughed under the sod, some form of fertilizer 
should be applied in the hill at the time of ploughing, in order 
to give the seed an early start ; or to the plant itself at the first 
hoeing. Half a shovelful of well-rotted manure in the hill is, 
I doubt not, the best fertilizer that can be used for this purpose. 
Plaster has been used, but it is too wet for this crop. Bones 
prepared as laid down in the early debates of this Club are very 
useful. Half a gill of guano or a gill of superphosphate may 
be applied with advantage. The droppings of poultry com- 
posted with a small quantity of muck, and well decomposed, have 
great efTect. Lime is of no value, unless you prefer a large 
amount of fodder to a good crop of grain. Ashes applied on 
the surface at the first hoeing not only stimulate the plant, but 
they tend to destroy and drive away many of the insects and 
worms which are injurious to the crop. 

I have found a record of a corn crop kept by a reliable citi- 
zen of this State, which contains so many valuable hints with 
regard to cultivation, and so many interesting calculations, 
that I will take the liberty of reading it as a part of my state- 
ment. 



GRAIN CROPS. 287 

" The field of corn entered by me for premium contains two 
acres ; the soil is a black loam generally, and part of it is a 
mixture of gravel. The condition of the field was poor ; it was 
sowed clown to grass in the fall of 1846 without any manure ; it 
has been in grass ever since until September, 1872, when I had 
it broken up about ten inches deep. Allow me to say that it 
had better have been ploughed in the spring following, just before 
planting. The manure used on this field was a compost made 
entirely between the i8th of November, 1852, and the last of 
April, 1853, from one horse, one cow, and sods taken from the 
above field and composted in my barn cellar by my hogs. As 
the bulk of the manure was taken from the same field to which 
it was returned, I shall only estimate the value of the horse 
and cow manure, the use of the hogs for composting, and the 
carting of the sods into the cellar, as that was the only cost to 
me. The compost was carted directly from the barn cellar, 
without turning over, about the last of April, and spread as 
even over the whole field as it could well be, and immediately 
ploughed in. The quantity spread in this way was about six- 
teen cords to the field, or eight cords to the acre ; it was then 
harrowed and furrowed both ways, three feet four inches one 
way and three feet the other. There w^ere about two cords of 
the scrapings of the cellar put in the hill. On the loth and 
nth of May I planted it with Plymouth County corn, putting 
six or eight kernels in each hill ; cultivated and hoed it twice, 
taking out all but five, and sometimes four stalks at hoeing- 
time. 

"On the 1 8th of October, the committee, after examining the 
whole field, selected two places, in separate parts of the field, 
and measured one square rod in each, which they considered to 
be a fair average of the whole. They measured from the centre 
between two rows, and gathered, shelled, and weighed each rod 
separately ; the first rod weighed 44^ pounds, the second 46^ 
pounds, making the average 45^ pounds to the rod ; reckoning 
56 pounds to the bushel, as per rule of the society, it gives me 
129 bushels to the acre. The corn was well ripened, and I be- 
gan on the same day to harvest it. 



288 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

" Debt and credit on the above field : — 

Interest on land valued at $ 225 per acre . . . .$27.00 

Taxes on the land 2.56 

Ploughing in September, 1852 5-oo 

Carting sods into barn cellar at sundry times . . . 10.00 

Manure of horse and cow, 5J- months 8.00 

Use of hogs to work over sods and composting . . 10.00 
Applying manure, % 10.00 ; ploughing and harrowing and fur- 
rowing, $ 6 16.00 

Seed corn and planting, $ 3.50 ; cultivating and hoeing, $6.00 9.50 
Cutting stalks and harvesting 16.00 



Total % 10406 

Value of crop : — 

Stalks and husks 30.00 

258I bushels shelled corn, at 90 cents .... 232.20 

Increased value of land from manuring .... 14.00 

Total $276.20 

Profit % 172.14 

This statement I consider interesting and valuable, with the 
exception of the time of ploughing in the fall, and the date of 
planting. The loth of May, in ordinary seasons, is too early 
to plant corn. The last of May is better. It is unnecessary for 
me to add that thorough hoeing and cultivation are indispensa- 
ble to a good crop. Opinions differ with regard to the best 
method of harvesting corn. The advocates of cutting and stock- 
ing when the corn is glazed claim that more fodder is saved 
and a greater weight of corn secured in this way than in any 
other. Of this I am not sure. The fodder when cut has 
reached a degree of maturity which makes it tough and woody. 
It is exposed to all the storms of autumn, which cannot certainly 
improve it. The corn itself may not be evenly ripened through- 
out the field ; and the green corn may heat and mildew in the 
shoot. These are manifest objections. On the other hand, 
stalks cut when green and properly cured are palatable and 
nutritious. The corn left standing, after having been topped, 
has the full benefit of the last hour of ripening ; it is exposed 
to no heating process, and has every opportunity to make a dry 



GRAIN CROPS. 289 

and sound kernel. I may be mistaken about this, but I strongly 
incline to the opinion that where the crop is not so large as to 
make it expensive, the mode of harvesting by cutting and curing 
the stalks and allowing the corn to stand and ripen in the field 
is the most satisfactory. 

I fear I have occupied so much of your time that debate will 
be cut off ; but you know I am always glad to receive the Club 
at my house, and 1 trust we shall soon have another opportu- 
nity to continue the discussion. 

After Mr. Hopkins had finished his paper there was in- 
deed not much debate. The minds of the members seemed 
to be preoccupied, and there was an evident desire to ad- 
journ and join in general conversation. It was noticed 
that Peter Ilsley and William Jones, with two or three of 
the lesser lights, gathered in a corner of the room and 
opened a guarded talk. Mr. Hopkins, Mr. Howe, and 
Charles Ingalls met in front of the fire and stood about and 
looked at each other, making but few remarks. The other 
members of the Club grouped themselves according to 
their tastes. But there was an awkward mystery hanging 
over the room ; and it was found that in no one of the 
groups had John Thomas a place, and that at his approach 
the conversation ceased. Gradually they separated ; and 
John Thomas was glad to go home and sit down before his 
own fire with Huldah. He did not know the reason why, 
but as he reached his house he noticed that he had been 
walking on alone. A week of innuendoes started at the 
grocery had surrounded John Thomas with a dangerous 
complicated network of which he was as yet ignorant, and 
from which he was not easily to be extricated. 



19 



290 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 



TWENTIETH MEETING. 

GRAIN CROPS (Continued). 

JOHN THOMAS IN TROUBLE. — HIS CHARACTER ASSAILED. — SOME 
FRIENDS DESERT. — THE TOWN-MEETING. — CHARLES INGALLS 
BEHAVES LIKE A MAN. —CLARA BELL SHINES. 

1 HE evil and ungenerous sentiments and suspicions 
which were aroused by the conversation at the grocery 
soon filled the air of Jotham and beclouded it, as the test- 
drop of the chemist casts its opaque and dingy shadow 
through the crystal pool. The ordinary village gossip had 
always had its share of scandal and flying abuse ; enough 
to season but not enough to poison the tone of society. 
But now matters assumed a serious aspect. A citizen in 
whom the community had reposed entire confidence, and 
who had been intrusted with the affairs of the town with- 
out hesitation or doubt, was enrolled in the list of those 
who are a reproach to society, and whose restraint and 
punishment are among the .painful duties of a well-ordered 
state. Nobody pretended to say that John Thomas was 
dishonest ; nobody suspected him of being a rascal. But 
perhaps Stevens, the keeper of the almshouse, had over- 
reached him, and the sagacity of a public official should 
place him beyond the reach of fraud ; how otherwise could 
the state be safe } John Thomas, the citizen and farmer, 
might be cheated every day of his life ; but John Thomas, 
the Selectman, never. He might be weak and mortal in 
his own affairs, but not in the affairs of the town. They 
felt by a sort of perverted instinct that official infirmity 
was no better than official wickedness ; and one ancient 



CKA/.V CROPS. 291 

maiden alluded in an undertone to Caesar's wife, while 
many an ambitious moralizer referred to spots on the 
sun. 

"I am sorely perplexed by this affair of John Thomas's," 
said the Rev. Mr. Howe to his wife, as they sat together 
on Sunday evening, discussing the services of the day and 
the condition of the parish. " He is under a heavy cloud, 
and when it is to clear off I cannot tell. He may be a 
victim of a lofty and perhaps imperious demand for official 
honesty, which is a natural characteristic of a free people. 
From the days of Washington until this hour, every man 
in high place in this country has been charged with cor- 
ruption and dishonest designs ; and it is encouraging to 
feel that the people have always set their standard so 
high, and have always been so uncompromising in their 
demands. I glory in this keen and watchful public eye." 

" Is n't there something a little green in that eye now 
and then .? " said Mr. Hopkins, who had walked in to make 
his usual Sunday evening call on the minister, and had 
heard the latter part of his little discourse. 

" It may be so," said Mr. Howe ; " men may be envious 
and jealous of success in every form, but I think they feel 
so deeply the importance of honesty as the corner-stone of 
republican government, that they may sometimes be hard 
in their demands. A mind filled with deep convictions, 
and a heart fixed on high purposes, are apt to be merciless. 
If men will aspire to high places they must pay the price. 
It were better that even a righteous man should suffer, 
rather than that wrong should fall upon the community." 

" It is so hard that popular injustice should be necessary 
to preserve the purity of popular institutions," said Mrs. 
Howe, in a gentle tone. 

"Not popular injustice," said Mr. Howe; "but popular 
integrity, which must be heard, though the heavens fall, 
and which should no more be checked in its career than 



292 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

the workings of an all-wise Providence. If John Thomas 
must be sacrificed for the good of the community, and in 
obedience to the high demancls of popular integrity, he 
must bow with resignation, and we, his friends, must sub- 
mit with patience." 

"But if he is innocent .-*" interposed Mrs. Howe. 

" That he must prove," said Mr. Howe ; " and be held 
guilty until he does." 

" If I were a man, I should be very slow to pay such a 
price as this for the highest office in the gift of the people,"" 
replied the perplexed and sympathizing Mrs. Howe. 

" My dear," said the minister, warming to his subject,, 
" nothing but a fearful accountability, rigorously impressed, 
can keep society, or the state, or the church, or party, pure. 
Let it be understood that the character of the church is- 
created by the sinners it should save, that the state is no 
better than the criminal it should punish, that society is 
controlled by the corrupt, and that a party is always as bad 
as the worst men in it, and state and society and church and 
the party will purify themselves, even if it be done by fire." 

" But are you sure this is true ? " asked Mr. Hopkins, 
who began to grow restless under a doctrine which threat- 
ened to tarnish his mercantile honor. " I am sure men must 
have a higher motive, and a more enlightened sense than 
this. Injustice never worked out a reform. I do not know 
that I should feel called on to save an innocent man from 
its operations, in the face of popular clamor. I fear I 
should not feel called on to sacrifice myself in any such 
conflict. But I must say that if ever there was a theory out 
of which conspirators and hypocrites and Pharisees could 
be born, this is one. I am for honest men every time and 
in every walk in life ; and I know no way to get them but 
by encouraging honesty and punishing dishonesty with 
justice and keen discrimination ; and I would punish a 
conspirator quicker than I would a thief This wholesale 



ga'A/jV cjwps. 293 

denunciation and condemnation of public men will fill our 
high places with cowards and time-servers and imbeciles, 
— men who escape condemnation by avoiding all responsi- 
bility. But remember, I don't say this to shield or excuse 
John Thomas, or to stand between him and an indignant 
people. No man shall ever charge me with having winked 
at or tolerated official wrong. I do hope and pray that 
I shall never be tempted to take office." 

" No office higher than the Presidency of the Farm-yard 
Club, I suppose," quietly remarked Mr. Howe. 

At this moment Squire Wright entered, and, after having 
saluted those present with his usual courtesy and urbanity, 
and enlarged upon the bright and beautiful weather which 
had marked the day, and discussed the manner in which 
"St Martin's" and "Dundee" had been sung by the choir 
and the audience combined, he turned his attention to the 
case of John Thomas as the all-absorbing topic of the village. 

" If he were alone in this trouble, I should have great 
compassion for him," said the Squire ; " but everybody is 
exposed to this same attack, and he has had a long career 
■of power, and must now take the torment." 

" But his poor wife ! " whispered Mrs. Howe. 

" Before the severe demands of public conscience," con- 
tinued the Squire, " I am always unwilling to listen to the 
calls of mercy. Society is gentle enough with the criminal, 
and holds him innocent until he is proved guilty. With 
its servants, however, it should be unsparing. The neces- 
sity for official service is bad enough ; the existence of 
public servants, large and small, is discouraging enough ; 
let them, then, go to the rear. I hold that every man who 
is engaged in the service of the state should be bowed 
down with humility and should feel that the day of his 
distinction has arrived when he retires to private life. 
If, in order to preserve the national integrity, we must 
subdue public servants, so be it ; it is the sacrifice we offer 



294 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

for the good of our country. This may be hard ; but while 
as a friend I deplore it, as a citizen I acquiesce in it. I 
would hold every public organization accountable for the 
sins of its members; and I would declare an unending war 
of purification. Now, take this case of John Thomas. If, 
during his administration, Stevens has defrauded the town 
in supplies to the almshouse, he, Thomas, has scandalized 
this community ; and, hard as it may seem, the career of 
John Thomas must be held up as a warning to all officials. 
As a friend, I admire him ; as a citizen, I respect him ; 
as a reliable business man, I trust him ; as a member of 
society, I value him highly ; as a trustee, I should have 
confidence in him ; as a referee, I should rely on his judg- 
ment ; but as a selectman of Jotham, I cannot approve his 
course or commend the example he has set his townsmen." 

" But do you think he has really been dishonest 1 " asked 
Mrs. Howe. 

" No, not exactly," said the Squire. " But that is of 
minor importance. For, pray tell me how we can fight the 
great army of public plunderers if we allow even a suspected 
person to escape } No party could afford to do that." 

" We were not considering party, if you will allow me to 
interrupt you," said Mr. Hopkins. "And I am sure that 
party must be weak which is obliged to sacrifice innocent 
men in order to relieve itself of the odium of the guilty." 

" O no, Squire, this is not a party question ! " said Mr. 
Howe. " I agree with you in allowing the public demand 
for honesty to be carried on to a point of unreasonableness 
and the sternest justice. I would never check it. I pity 
John Thomas ; but I cannot meddle with his public career. 
But it is not a party question with me. It is a question 
of public and general importance." 

"It is a question of equal and exact justice," said Mrs. 
Howe, who had no idea of popular indignation, and for 
whom the civium ardor prava jubciitinm had no terrors. 



GRAIN CROPS. 295 

The evening had now passed away, and the company 
separated, not by any means satisfied with the way in 
which they had met the question of John Thomas's de- 
Hnquency. They felt that somehow the justice and man- 
hness and courage and humanity had been with Mrs. 
Howe. 

And now the town became thoroughly engaged in the 
business of discussing this unfortunate malfeasance ; and 
John Thomas, who had led an inconspicuous life of honest 
drudgery and steady, commonplace duty, found himself 
an object of disagreeable interest, and surrounded by a 
painful isolation. The path into this unpleasant complica- 
tion had been so concealed, and the journey had been so 
gradual, that he hardly knew how he had arrived at the 
strange complication of difficulties which beset him on 
every hand. He had never examined himself on the point 
of integrity, had made no good resolutions in this direc- 
tion, had never raised a doubt in his own mind with 
regard to the reputation which he had for a long life en- 
joyed among his neighbors, — to ascertain whether it was 
well founded or not. He had always passed for an honest 
man, and he took it for granted that he was so. But now 
the people said he was not, and he was naturally inclined 
to accept patiently and submissively their verdict, as he 
had heretofore accepted their approval and their good 
opinion. He had been so long ranked among good men 
by spontaneous public accord, that it took him a long time 
to realize the situation into which he was forced by being 
condemned as a bad one. The whole affair was in his 
mind either a farce or a dream ; and he could hardly tell 
which, until passing events, trifling in themselves but sig- 
nificant, brought the reality home to him in a startling 
and amazing manner. 

Huldah became silent and anxious and abstracted. 
She had never been what is called a person of high spirits. 



296 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

But she had been such a cheerful and busy and con- 
tented wife to John Thomas, such a tender and watchful 
and even-tempered mother, that her house had been as 
cloudless as a soft and sunny October afternoon for more 
than twenty-five years. In all that time she had never 
been either elated or bowed down. She was now, how- 
ever, evidently oppressed by a deep and heavy sorrow 
which she could not conceal, and which she was unwilling 
to impart to her husband, lest by so doing she should 
indicate her belief in his guilt. Once, as they gathered 
around the table in the morning, John saw a tear stealing 
down her cheek ; but he had been so long accustomed to 
living with her in a mutual joy that he could neither 
understand nor manage a mutual sorrow. And so he too 
was silent and awkward, and at last heavy and oppressed. 
His home was darkened. 

His children felt the depressing influence of this do- 
mestic mystery, and grew shy and half frightened. And 
his favorite boy, John, his namesake and his counterpart 
in all his sturdy and manly qualities, overwhelmed him 
with grief and astonishment by incjuiring of him what the 
boys at school meant by asking him if he lived on poor- 
house beef and pauper butter at home. 

Dr. Parker called to pay a bill, and when the amount 
was settled, John vainly endeavored to lead him into 
general conversation ; and when he proposed to take 
their usual look into the barns and among the horses and 
cattle, he was perplexed and disappointed by the Doctor's 
silence and his readiness to depart. Even his barns 
looked gloomy, and his pride in his animals was turned 
into shame and distress, as he stood there alone in an 
atmosphere chilled by the frigid civility and avoidance 
of an old friend. He even thought the Doctor had paid 
the bill with unusual promptness as a reproach to him. 

In the grocery he did not meet with even silent courtesy. 



GRAIN CROPS. 297 

He had never been in the habit of spending an evening 
hour in this village 'Change ; but now he felt an irresistible 
desire to mingle with his neighbors v^ho congregated there, 
partly in expectation of a friendly word, partly to relieve 
his mind with idle and familiar talk, and partly in hopes 
that his presence might lead his accusers away from their 
object. But he got small comfort there. The conversation 
did not flow with its usual ease and rapidity ; and when it 
did go on, it was far from agreeable or satisfactory to him. 

" Damn a ring, anyhow," said Peter Ilsley, as they closed 
a discussion of Biddle and his Bank. 

" I see no occasion for swearing about it, Peter," said 
John, putting in a word to place himself right on the moral 
side of the question, and to rebuke Ilsley for his rudeness. 

" Well, I do," said Peter. " Common words don't begin 
in a time like this." 

"I don't believe three scanips ever got together, that one 
of 'em didn't let out on the others," said the ex-representa- 
tive, looking at Peter, and remembering that he was a se- 
lectman turning state's evidence. 

Peter squirmed, and said nothing. John laughed with a 
hoarse spasm, and departed. He had begun to realize the 
trouble which surrounded him ; and he had begun, also, to 
feel the importance of a bold and manly and candid dec- 
laration in an hour like this. And more than all, he felt 
how through inexperience he lacked the wisdom and cour- 
age to meet this crisis as it should be met. He was a silent 
sufferer, because he had never learned how to take or give 
advice ; had never dealt in expressions of sympathy ; had 
never been taught that there are times when defiant self- 
assertion is necessary as an act of justice to ourselves and 
our friends. 

It was in the midst of this unhappiness, suspicion, and 
ill-feeling, that the time arrived for holding the annual 
election of town officers in Jotham. The March meetino-. 



298 THE FARM- YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

as it was called, had come. The usual warrant had been 
nailed up in the church entry the number of days required 
by law, and the inhabitants had read and pondered upon 
the various articles, both before and after divine service. 
Some of them seemed to read with unusual care, as if they 
expected to find an unwonted article there, — perhaps to 
inquire into the conduct of the selectmen, — but they found 
nothing ; and so they said nothing. And so, on the first 
Monday of March, at i o'clock, p. m., the old bell sounded 
out its summons, as it had done for years, and the people 
assembled to discharge their duty as citizens of the town. 
The meeting was opened with prayer by Mr. Howe ; the 
warrant was read by the Town Clerk ; and in accordance 
with the first article, providing" for the choice of a Modera- 
tor, Squire Wright was elected to that high and -imperial 
office, which the law has clothed with such supreme power. 
The Moderator was stationed on the low platform in front 
of the pulpit, while the voters were scattered about in 
groups, some gathered near the desk, some loitering up 
and down the broad aisle, some assembled in the porch, 
and some of the old and feeble sitting quietly in the square, 
high-backed pews. The choice of Town Clerk attracted 
but little attention, the few votes which were cast being for 
Silas Savary, who was declared to be duly elected. The 
article providing for the choice of three Selectmen was 
read, and the voters present were called upon to deposit 
their ballots for these high officials. At once there was a 
stir, and the scattered groups began to gather about the 
pulpit, not actively, but with real or assumed reluctance. 
The ballot-box stood open, the Town Clerk was seated be- 
hind his check-list, but no man advanced to vote. There 
was evidently an unusual movement to be made, — so 
unusual that the mover hesitated, and hardly knew how or 
where to begin. At last Sam Barker addressed the chair 
and asked if debate was in order. 



a/^Aix CROPS. 299 

" Debate is always in order," said the Moderator, "unless 
the question is being taken, or the meeting has adopted 
and applied a rule to suppress it." 

" Then, Mr. Moderator," said Mr. Barker, " I want to say 
to this meeting that I find the name of John Thomas on a 
ballot here for Selectman, and in my opinion he ought not 
to bg elected to the office. He may be an honest man, but 
there are those who do not believe it. I — " Cries of order 
arose from all parts of the house ; and the Moderator re- 
minded Mr. Barker that such a personal discussion of the 
merits of a candidate could not be allowed at that time. 
" Let him go on," said John Thomas ; " I suppose I might 
as well meet it now as any time." And he really appeared 
to be gathering courage for a contest, although his voice 
had but little of resolution in its subdued and muffled tones. 

Sam Barker began again, and was proceeding with much 
vehemence to call in question John Thomas's fitness for 
the office, alluding to the damaging traditions with regard 
to his grandfather, denouncing his father, and amid great 
confusion clamoring for an almshouse investigation, until 
a feeling of remorse and sorrow seemed to be settling 
down upon the whole assembly. In the midst of the dis- 
turbance, a young woman was noticed to enter the church, 
and make her way to Charles Ingalls, who sat alone in a 
wall pew, watching the strange and to him novel scene. 
It was the first time a woman had ever been seen in a town- 
meeting at Jotham ; the first time that it had ever occurred 
to any man there, that a woman could have voice or inter- 
est in public affairs. They all thought they knew how 
beautiful Clara Bell was, — but they had no idea, until 
that moment, of the startling beauty with which the dis- 
charge of what seemed to be a great duty could irradiate 
her face, nor of the determined energy which could inspire 
her form with new grace and power. Charles Ingalls was 
amazed as she approached him, and still more amazed 



300 



THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 



when she exclaimed : " Charles, I know it all ! Remember 
your mother, your own honor, and be a man! John 
Thomas has a wife and children and a reputation. He may 
be wrong, but he is entitled to justice. Now speak!" 

This unexpected appearance of Clara Bell had produced 
profound silence in the meeting. Squire Wright, as Mod- 
erator, stood al- 
j) most spell-bound 

as he witnessed 
:;» I this manifesta- 

tion of the cour- 
age and sense 
of justice which 
i woman would be 
kely to bring 
into public ser- 
\ iro t^low and 




THE TOWN-MEETING. 



reluctant as he was to acknowledge it, and unwilling to 
recognize anything as superior to the rigorous justice of 



GRA/y CA'ors. 301- 

the law. Sam Barker had lost the thread of his philippic,, 
and was dumb. John Thomas lifted up his bowed head 
and seemed filled with new courage. Charles Ingalls rose 
and addressed the chair, while Clara stood leaning against 
the side of the pew, and looking into his face with a coun- 
tenance glowing with confidence and expectation. 

SPEECH OF CHARLES INGALLS. 

Mr. Moderator, — 1 am but just a voter in this town, am 
unused to public assemblies like this, and am entirely ignorant 
of the course of debate which would be considered at this time 
in order. I have, however, but a few words to say, and I beg 
the indulgence of this meeting of intelligent and responsible 
citizens while I say them. I know, sir, as you do, and all here 
do, that the reputation of one of our most respected citizens 
has been so successfully assailed that he finds among us but 
few defenders. I know and feel the danger of appearing here 
as an apologist for his alleged offences. But I know, also, that 
there is a latent sense of justice in every community which will 
not allow any man to be condemned unheard. We are told 
that Mr. Thomas has been guilty of neglect of official duty at 
least, and probably of corrupt practices, while in charge of the 
interests of the town. The origin and object of the complaint 
are by this time well understood, I doubt not ; and my desire 
is that before going further we should remind ourselves of the 
precise nature of the accusation, the character of the accused, 
and the fact that he has had no opportunity to be heard by his 
townsmen. I appreciate the deep and solemn importance of 
integrity and fidelity in the official service of a country like 
ours. The corruption of a despotism may be concealed and 
tolerated, perhaps, and its power remain unshaken. But in a 
community where all power springs from the governed, the 
fountain and stream must both be pure, or swift destruction is 
sure to follow. It is the honesty of private life which must lie 
at the foundation of honesty in public life here. I would, there- 
fore, place society and the state on the same footing, and I 



302 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

would employ the same means to suppress crime in the one 
that I would in the other. 

Now, sir, let me suggest to the gentlemen here present that a 
clamor for reform for mere political party purposes is poor busi- 
ness ; and that an attack on a man's character for similar pur- 
poses is poorer business still. The motive is a demoralizing 
one, and the result is simply to degrade public life and to deter 
good men from taking any part in it. I would remind you, 
moreover, that an inquisition is not an investigation. There 
are tortures more severe and cruel than the thumbscrew or the 
wheel, which may drive men either into callous insensibility or 
into despair. Let us, as sensible and honest men, avoid such 
cruelty as this. I warn you, too, against public professions of 
purity and integrity. The corners of the streets exist to-day 
just as they did in the time when the Great Teacher denounced 
the Pharisees and hypocrites, who met there to display their 
piety and their purple robes. While, then, we make a stern 
demand for high-minded and honest and honorable servants, 
let us avoid a wholesale denunciation of public service on the 
one hand, which is self-righteousness, and political design on 
the other, which is demoralization. For one, I like neither the 
time nor the manner in which Mr. Thomas is accused. The 
chief accuser has not approached his business like a man. He 
has waited for his opportunity. He seems to have had a hand 
in the very business of which he complains. Honesty is a 
good thing every month in the year and on all occasions, in 
the autumn as well as in the spring ; just before Thanksgiving 
as well as just before town-meeting. And I trust, sir, we shall 
manifest as much anxiety to escape political injustice as we do 
to unearth a rascal. I hope and pray, moreover, that we shall 
never be brought to the point of denouncing church and state 
and society, and all associations, or even party, because bad 
men will seek shelter where they think they can find security 
and plunder. 

Allow me, Mr. Moderator, in closing, to relate a striking per- 
sonal incident illustrative of my argument, — an incident which 
I found recorded in a French newspaper filed in the reading- 



GRAIN CROPS. 303 

room cf the college library, and which I happened to read just 
before I left old Dartmouth for this town, at the beginning of 
the last winter. During the later years of the reign of Louis 
Philippe in France, the eminent and powerful thinker and writer, 
Sainte-Beuve, began to attract the attention of the literary and 
political world, and as a recognition of his genius and accom- 
plishments he was appointed by M. Cousin a keeper of the 
Mazarin Library. For his convenience, and as a part of his 
emoluments, he occupied the rooms provided for the librarian 
at the Institute, and there diligently pursued his studies and 
faithfully discharged the duties of his office. \\\ October, 1847, 
finding a defect in the chimney of his room, he sent for a work- 
man to repair it, and on ascertaining that the government was 
responsible for work done on public buildings, he made appli- 
cation for authority to order the repairs, which was granted, and 
the workman was paid out of the public treasury one hundred 
francs. In February, 1848, Louis Philippe fled to England, and 
a republican government was founded. The upholders of the 
new order of government proceeded at once to denounce and 
expose the crimes of the Ministry who had served the displaced 
monarch as well as those of all their friends, and to publish 
the names of all persons who received bribes from the ministers 
of the Crown. In due time the name of Sainte-Beuve, a man 
who had enjoyed a high reputation for courage and honesty, 
and was counted as a friend of the republic, was published to 
an astonished community as one who had yielded to tempta- 
tion, and had played the part of hypocrite and thief at the 
same time. Sainte-Beuve at first looked upon the accusation as 
a joke, denied it, and treated it with contempt. But he at last 
became conscious that the charge was looked upon as well 
founded by some of his best friends and most respected ac- 
quaintances, and he proceeded at once to deny it in a long, 
elaborate, and carefully written letter addressed to the public 
of Paris, declaring that he had had no communication whatever 
with King or Ministry or the House of Orleans, and that he 
had conscientiously refused all honors at their hands. Not- 
withstanding this explicit denial that he had drav.-n money from 



304. THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JO J HAM. 

the civil list of Louis Philijipe, his friends and the public were 
not wholly convinced of his purity j and feeling it impossible 
to hold a post under a government which regarded him as cor- 
ruptible and corrupted, he ceased at his own request to be a 
keeper of the Mazarin Library. He was at once invited by M. 
Charles Rogier, Belgian Minister of the Interior, to become 
Professor of French Literature in the University of Liege ; and 
when he accepted the invitation and left Paris, his enemies de- 
clared that he had fied from the capital overwhelmed with guilt 
and fear. The account continues, sir, that " while he was the 
victim of charges which it was hard to bear, and of insinuations 
which it was impossible to silence, Sainte-Beuve left no stone 
unturned in order to discover the source of what he felt to be 
an atrocious calumny. He wrote to the ex-ministers of the 
fallen monarchy, requesting them to give him all the informa- 
tion in their power, and they replied that the matter was a mys- 
tery to which they could supply no clew. Some time elapsed 
before the publication of the paper in which his name was said 
to have been entered as the recipient of a large sum from the 
civil list ; when the paper appeared there was the following 
entry in it: 'Sainte-Beuve, loo francs.' This represented not 
only the amount charged, but the actual payment which had 
been made for the repair of the chimney on the roof of the 
rooms at the Institute. The outlay had been incurred too late 
in the year to be included in the Budget, and had been entered 
among the extraordinary expenses. To him, then, a smoky 
chimney had really proved one of life's, greatest plagues. It 
had made him the object of such suspicion and attack, that 
he had resigned a post to which he was attached, had accepted 
another not to his taste, had become for a time a voluntary exile 
from France, which he strongly loved, and from Paris, which 
was his favorite place of abode." 

Can you conceive, sir, the wretchedness of this man's life i* 
Can you imagine a burden more grievous to be borne than the 
long and weary hours of unjust punishment for unfounded ac- 
cusation ? That such injustice and wrong should arise from an 
unfortunate chain of evidence, whose error and weakness no legal 



GRAIN CROPS. 305 

investigation can discover, is hard and discouraging enough ; 
but as the result of pohtical excitement, or rancor, or design, 
it becomes intolerable, and should receive a public condemna- 
tion a thousand times more severe than the pun shment which 
society would inflict on the criminal. I t^ust no such wrong 
will be committed in Jotham. Meaven knows that we desire to 
be honest here, and I believe we shall let the world know that 
we sco.n to be bitter, persecuting, or unjust. 

I hope, Mr. Moderator, the balloting will proceed, and that 
we shall rise above passion and prejudice, and deposit our votes 
for those whom we respect, and in whom we have confidence, 
rej;ardless of personal ambition, and gu'ded by the same rule 
that would govern us in the ordinary business of life. I have 
said more than I ought in the presence of my elders and supe- 
riors ; but I have been keenly reminded, as you see here, that 
the tenderest relations in life and the sweetest happiness may 
he involved when we would hardly expect it. I know I have 
feebly and imperfectly performed an unexpected duty, but I 
have done it sincerely and honestly. I have done it in obedi- 
ence to my conscience, and to the warmest ajDpeal man can 
know on earth. 

When the young schoolmaster had finished his speech 
he passed out of the meeting-house with Clara, pale and 
trembling from his effort, and knowing little more than her 
approving pressure on his arm as they walked rapidly on 
towards her home. " You will never be ashamed of that 
speech, Charles," said Clara, sweetly and gently, as they 
entered the house, and he flung himself into an ample 
easy-chair and buried his face in his hands. The eye of 
the Moderator, his old friend and teacher, w^as on him still. 
He saw the wondering gaze of Mr. Hopkins, whom he re- 
spected so much, and of Mr. Howe, whom he loved. And 
he saw also the half-contemptuous look of the hundred 
men assembled there, as they listened with a sort of unex- 
pected silence, but not with true deference to the fine-spun 
theories of the beardless youth. And he felt that his life 
20 



306 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

in Jotham was ended, and that his character for wisdom 
and sagacity and perhaps stern integrity was damaged at 
the very threshold of life. But he knew he had done what 
he conceived to be his duty ; he looked up and saw Clara's 
approving face, and he had faith that the Squire and Mr. 
Hopkins and Mr. Howe would approve also ; and that even 
the less sensitive might not condemn. 

When Charles and Clara had left the meeting, not a 
word was said by those who remained behind. The qu'es- 
tion had evidently gone beyond the reach of their discus- 
sion. A few whispers were heard about, "A pretty good 
gait for a colt," " His modesty '11 never hurt him," "He's 
got a good deal to learn yet," and so on ; but, without fur- 
ther comment, Peter Ilsley proceeded to cast his vote for 
selectmen, and the rest of the multitude followed his ex- 
ample. 

The whole number of votes cast was . . 150 

Necessary for a choice .... 76 

Peter Ilsley had ...... 76 

John Brown , . . . . . 149 

Phineas Barnes . . . . . .150 

And they were elected. 

John Thomas had seventy-five, and was not elected. In 
the midst of his speech and his excitement Charles Ingalls 
had forgotten to vote. 

The various articles in the warrant were disposed of, and 
the meeting adjourned. 

"Well, John, it is all over," said Huldah, as John Thomas 
hung his hat and coat in the entry and sat down before the 
cheerful fire and near her clean and tidy table. 

"Yes," said John, "and I am glad I have got my con- 
science left, and I suppose that is enough. As I listened 
to Charles Ingalls, I felt sure all would come out right in 
the end ; and for your sake and the children's I trust it 



GRAIN CROPS. 307 

will. If this is a stain, I must bear it, and I know you will 
help me. If it is not, why, all right." 

Huldah gave John a sly kiss, — they had been married 
more than a quarter of a century, — cheerfully arranged the 
table, called the children, and with John's customary invo- 
cation of the Divine blessing, they sat down to tea. The 
cloud had blown over ; how and why, they did not exactly 
understand. 

The business of the Club was next in order. Mr. Howe 
consulted with Mr. Hopkins as to the best time to call it 
together, and they determined that, without troubling John 
Thomas in the matter, they had better call the meeting at 
the earliest possible date, and continue the discussion of 
grain crops. 

Mr. Hopkins remarked that he should extend an invita- 
tion to the wives of the members of the Club, and that he 
should be especially happy to see Clara Bell on the occa- 
sion. 

The Club met at the usual hour, and was called to order 
by Mr. Hopkins, who announced the subject, and then pro- 
ceeded to speak some kind words upon the importance of 
having, above all things else, a peaceful and happy commu- 
nity in Jotham. He said he had come among them to en- 
joy the repose of his ancestral home, and to escape the 
jealousies and conflicts which attend the busier scenes of 
life. He urged upon them the necessity of charity and 
kindness and fair dealing, assuring them that next to in- 
'tegrity came obedience to the law of doing unto others as 
we would that they should do unto us. He thought per- 
haps they had better postpone the discussion until the next 
evening ; and he announced that he had invited the wives 
of the members in order that they might have a quiet 
social entertainment and become better acquainted with 
each other. With this little introduction he left the chair, 
and taking Mr. and Mrs. Thomas by the hand he gave 



308 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

them a warm and cordial welcome to his home. To 
Charles and Clara he was especially attentive, — so attentive 
to Clara that the ladies exchanged expressive glances with 
each other as the interview went on. And so peace and 
confidence were restored in Jotham. 

Peter Ilsley was not present at the meeting. 



GRAIN CROPS. 309 



TWENTY-FIRST MEETING. 

GRAIN CROPS (Continued). 

MR. HOWE SLOW TO BELIEVE. — WILLIAM JONES TALKS ABOUT 
OATS AND HORSES. — DR. PARKER CONTINUES THE DEBATE.— 
MR. HOPKINS PROVES THE INTEGRITY OF JOHN THOMAS. — THEY 
ALL REJOICE. 

IVlANY days passed before Mr. Howe met John Thomas 
for the purpose of arranging another meeting of the Club. 
. The minister was not entirely convinced and satisfied with 
regard to charges which had been preferred against his 
associate on the committee ; he could not exactly under- 
stand how a universal belief in a man's guilt could be 
entertained to-day, and almost as universal an assurance 
of his innocence be felt to-morrow, without a careful and 
satisfactory investigation ; and he was half inclined to look 
upon the whole matter of John Thomas's guilt as based on 
suspicion, and of his acquittal as the result of a popular 
freak. And he found it difficult to bring his ministerial 
mind into such an easy estimate of error, and his minis- 
terial heart into such an unfounded and impulsive forgive- 
ness of sin, as he had witnessed in the events of the town 
meeting and the Club. But he had great faith in his 
people, and he entertained no doubt that they had the 
best of reasons for the course they had pursued. When 
he met John Thomas, therefore, he tried to feel as every- 
body else appeared to feel, — satisfied and confident, and 
full of restored esteem and kindness. He was quite un- 
willing that his faith should make him less ready to forgive 
than the rest of mankind about him, — even while he was 



3IO THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

disposed to believe that his conscience was more enlight- 
ened, and more keen in its demands, through the influence 
of theological thought. He made up his mind to acqui- 
esce in the views and sentiments of his people, and to wait 
patiently for such satisfaction as he might derive from 
future developments. It was without effort, therefore, that 
he met Mr. Thomas with his usual cordiality, and made 
arrangements for issuing notice of the next meeting of 
the Club;, and for the continued discussion of the sub- 
ject of \ 

GRAIN CROPS. 

When Mr. Hopkins called the Club to order, he found 
his parlor somewhat crowded by the members, who were 
present in full force, and who manifested the liveliest inter- 
est in the welfare of the organization. It had evidently 
become the institution of the town, and was destined to 
control to a great degree the public opinion and to direct 
the public councils. He looked about with a good deal 
of satisfaction, announced the subject, and called upon 
those present to express their views freely, and to give 
their own experience in the raising of those crops which 
are of importance to the very existence of man and beast. 

William Jones opened the discussion immediately by 
calling attention to oats as one of the most important 
grain crops of the North. 

" Oats," said he, " have a peculiar interest to my mind, 
on account of their connection with the health and vigor 
of one of the most valuable of our domestic animals, the 
horse. I am of opinion that they are the only grain which 
can be safely and properly fed to this animal ; and that, 
were they produced in larger quantities, and sold at lower 
prices, the use of corn, in any form, for horses would be 
entirely abandoned. I have been obliged, for the sake 
of economy, to use corn-meal in what is usually called 



GRAIN CROPS. 311 

chopped feed ; but I have always found that it produced a 
tendency to disease in my horses, either in their digestive 
organs or in their heads and legs, and I have been glad 
to quit it. If you want a fat, round, bloated horse, with 
greased heels and loose bowels and a stupid brain, feed 
him on chopped feed, or give him a heavy supply of cracked 
corn, three times a day. I have often wondered how the 
great mass of livery and stage horses can possibly perform 
their work on such a diet ; and I have no manner of doubt 
that three quarters of the cripples which we see in our 
stables, and tottering along the roads, are burnt up by 
corn. Poor hay and sour meal mixed together are enough 
to kill the strongest horse ever born. 

" And then I have noticed, Mr. Chairman, that our stables 
are beginning to be filled in the spring of the year with 
young, overgrown Western horses, which have had all the 
corn they could eat from the day they were weaned until 
they were sent here for sale. They have been provided 
with corn just as Western hogs and cattle are, — by throw- 
ing a plenty of ears for them to nibble into the yard where 
they are confined ; and they grow up very much after the 
fashion of swine and short-horn steers, whose only merit is 
their fat. They come into our market half broken, used 
perhaps to a little double harness-work, but wholly unfit 
for private single driving, and about as safe as a panic- 
stricken reindeer. Their bodies are out of all proportion 
to their legs. Their lungs have never been expanded by 
exercise over rough and hilly pastures. In summer they 
have been overfed with the rank grass of Western pastures, 
and in winter they have been stuffed with a surplus of 
Western corn. And so when they are put to work on the 
road or on the farm, or in the heavy drays and wagons of 
the city, they soon begin to tumble to pieces, have all the 
diseases that are going round, get lame, and for a year at 
least are pretty nearly worthless. I think it would be better 



312 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOT HAM. 

for these horses and better for their owners, if they were 
half starved in winter at a straw-stack, than to be fed as 
they are. It seems to me that half the civilized world 
might be supplied with horses from the West to the great 
profit of the breeders there, and to the great advantage of 
the purchasers also, if they were only bred and fed in the 
right way." 

" Under our rules, I must remind Mr. Jones that the 
subject under discussion is the oat crop," said the President. 

" O yes," said Mr. Jones, who had wandered away into 
his usual horse-talk with remarkable fluency. " I hope 
you will exxuse me, but oats and horses go together so 
much and belong to each other so entirely, that I can 
never think of one without talking about the other ; and 
I was going on to say that if we would raise good horses, 
and keep them in good health, and give them long lives, 
we must use more oats and less corn. That is all, Mr. 
President." 

Dr. Parker, who had been listening with evident interest 
to what Jones had said about the effect of corn on the 
constitution of the horse, took up the subject where he left 
it, and remarked that he had never yet seen any good 
reason why oats did not enter into the list of articles of 
food consumed by man more largely than they do. He 
remembered that Dr. Johnson, in order to manifest his 
dislike to Scotchmen, gave as a definition to the word oats, 
" A grain which in England is generally given to horses, 
but in Scotland supports the people " ; but he had always 
thought that the old lexicographer had unwittingly testified 
to the superior wisdom of the people whom he hated so 
thoroughly. Oatmeal for the young animal and for man 
is especially nutritious. It has less starch than wheat 
flour, it is true ; but it has more gluten, more sugar, more 
gum, and more fatty matter, and it is more digestible. 
No food gives the young animal so good a growth of bone 



GRAIN CROPS. 313 

and such a healthy organization as oatmeal, unless it be 
Swedish turnips. I do not imagine it could enter into the 
preparation of fine bread and cake as wheat flour does ; 
but while such food as this may and often does impair the 
digestion, the common preparations of oatmeal are palata- 
ble and easily digested. The great loss is in the large 
amount of woody fibre which is furnished by oats, being 
twenty-one in one hundred parts, while that of wheat is 
hardly more than one tenth of this. On the score of 
economy as a crop, he had nothing to say ; but as an article 
of food he could not speak too highly of this grain, and he 
had no doubt that Mr. Jones was right in his estimate of 
their value in the feeding of horses for growth while young, 
and for the road and draught when matured. 

" Mr. President," said John Thomas, " I think we all 
agree as to the value of oats as an article of food, but it 
seems to me that it is the business of this Club to discuss, 
first of all, the best mode of raising the crop. I find that 
oats differ very much from wheat, with which we have 
heard them compared this evening, in being more liable to 
be influenced by soil and climate. Wheat grows almost 
everywhere, and on almost all good strong soils. Oats 
grow best in the colder latitudes and on lighter soils. 
When the Scotchman ate more oats than wheat, he did it 
because he could raise them more easily. And I have 
always found that on new land and in high latitudes the 
crop is large and profitable. For myself, I am sorry to say 
that my land has lost its faculty of producing a good, 
plump, heavy crop of oats, unless the season happens to be 
very favorable. I have tried every variety, Norway oats and 
Surprise oats and New Brunswick oats, but they are all, 
on my land, an uncertain crop ; and I have not yet found 
out any way to manure my land so as to make the crop 
sure. In the western part of the State, where the land 
is newer and the country more mountainous and the air 
14 



314 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

cooler, enormous crops of oats are raised by the good 
cultivation practised by the farmers there. I think oats 
require a larger proportion of mineral fertilizers than most 
of our grain crops. Heavy manuring with nitrogeneous 
barn-yard manures is hardly the thing for them. Bones, 
superphosphates, ashes harrowed in with the seed, will be 
more likely to produce a good crop, and will give the straw 
more ability to stand up, should it grow heavy, as it must, in 
order to yield an abundant supply of grain. I should not 
select heavy clay lands for oats, so far as my experience 
goes. 

" The sowing of the seed-oats should be done in early 
spring, — as soon as the frost is out, and the land suffi- 
ciently settled for the plough. The soil should be thor- 
oughly pulverized with the harrow, and about ten cords of 
well-decomposed barn-yard manure should be applied to 
the surface ; or, what is better, some bones or ashes com- 
bined with less manure. Three bushels of seed are re- 
quired to the acre in order to secure an abundant crop. 
In yield, no grain varies so much as this. Twenty-five 
bushels to the acre is in some places considered a fair crop. 
We are assured, however, that some new varieties will 
yield seventy-five bushels, and the premium crops of one 
section of this State have been reported as more than a 
hundred. It is not advisable to sow grass-seed with oats, 
as the catch is liable to be injured." 

WHEAT. 

" And now," said Mr. Howe, " let me call the attention 
of the Club to the wheat crop, having, as I think, exhausted 
the subject of oats. I have no doubt of the value of oats 
as an article of food ; but I cannot conceive of the highest 
form of civilization without an ample supply of wheat. It 
seems to me to be the universal grain ; and if it is provided 



GRAIN CROPS. 315 

with less sugar and gluten and gum than oats, it has as a 
fair offset a large preponderance of starch, which makes it 
applicable to all the nicer varieties of artificial food known 
to man. I have studied the wheat problem with the 
greatest interest, and I should consider it an evidence of 
advancing agriculture if I could see every farmer in New 
England, who now supplies his table with flour from 
Western mills, devote a small patch of his farm to the 
production of wheat for his own family use. I am sure it 
would be good economy for him to do this, and would 
avoid the necessity for that enormous outlay of money to 
which, as a people, we are subjected, because we will insist 
upon it that we can buy cheaper than we can raise it. 

" I suppose every good farm in New England has soil 
adapted to the growth of wheat, — strong, clayey land, 
supplied with silica enough to make a bright, firm, and 
stiff straw and a well-filled grain. Wheat, I know, will 
grow on a great variety of soils, but best on that which I 
have described. It is land like this which is most readily 
brought into good condition for wheat by the use of marl, 
or ashes, or decomposed barn-yard manure, or bones, or 
clover hay ploughed in, or superphosphates. I have no 
doubt that barn-yard manure composted with sand, and 
well fermented and rotted, would be found to be peculiarly 
applicable to the wheat crop. The addition of salt to the 
manure, to the extent of about three bushels to the acre, 
would undoubtedly largely increase its value. In addition 
to this process of fertilizing the land, Boressingault says : 
'Farmers are wont, before putting their seed-wheat into 
the ground, to prepare it in various ways, with a view to 
destroying the germs of certain parasites which are be- 
lieved to adhere to it externally. The process is generally 
called pickling, or liming, because milk of lime, in which 
the seeds are put to steep for twelve hours, is often em- 
ployed in its course. Means that are said to be more 



3l6 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

efficacious have also been recommended ; some make use 
of alum, others of sulphate of iron, sulphate of zinc, sul- 
phate of copper, sulphate of soda, and even white oxide of 
arsenic. All these means appear to conduce to the same 
result.' 

" Wheat should be sown the last of August or the first 
of September ; and the seed should be covered about two 
inches. On most soils two bushels of seed will be required 
to the acre. The seed on all the great wheat-fields is sown 
with a drill, broadcast sowing with the hand being now 
entirely confined to the small fields and to lands whose 
unevenness prevents the use of the drill. When sown in 
season, and well started in the winter, the wheat may be 
superficially harrowed in the spring with a fine-toothed 
harrow, for the purpose of stimulating the growth of the 
plants and of removing from the soil those weeds which 
will, if not checked, interfere with the crop. The wheat 
plant grows very rapidly in the spring, and will, if properly 
cultivated, outstrip the weeds and keep possession of the 
soil throughout the season. 

" If it happens to be necessary or convenient to sow 
spring wheat, let it be sown as early in the spring as 
possible ; always remembering to prepare the ground for 
this, as for all spring crops, at the time of seeding. Even 
if your land is ploughed in the autumn, plough it again in 
the spring just before sowing, and in all cases apply your 
fertilizers in the spring months. Harvest your crop as 
soon as the seed is firmly formed, and as soon as the straw, 
by turning yellow on the upper joint, indicates that the 
growth of the plant has ceased and the process of ripening 
has begun. The wheat should be bound and shocked as 
fast as it is cut, whether by a reaper or with the cradle. 
The importance of proper shocking and stacking cannot 
be overestimated ; and as in our discussion upon the hay 
crop we were told to learn as rapidly as possible how to 



GRAIN CROPS, 317 

make a good haystack, so I would urge upon you the 
importance of a skilful and accurate construction of a 
wheat-stack if you would make the most of your crop. 
The selection of the variety of seed I would leave to the 
judgment of each farmer. For, surrounded as we are with 
advocates of Oregon, and Diehl, and Pedigree, and Weeks, 
and White Mediterranean, and Red Andriola, and Golden 
Straw, and Red Chaff Amber, and Witter, for winter 
wheats, and with Black Sea, and Canada Club, and Rio 
Grande, and Fife, and China Tea, for spring wheats, the 
wise farmer need have no fear that he can fail in finding a 
variety suited to his soil. . 

" Mr. Dickerman well says : ' Smut is the great enemy 
of the wheat crop, and the only help for it is in brining 
the seed. The most convenient method is the following : 
cut a cider-barrel or oil-tierce in two in the middle, or use 
two large wash-tubs ; make a strong brine, strong enough 
to bear an &g%, and if used hot all the better ; put the 
brine into one of the tubs and turn the wheat into it ; stir 
it up two or three times and skim off the chess, chalif, and 
light wheat which will come to the surface ; then shovel it 
out into a basket and let it drain over the other tub ; turn 
it on the floor, and sift slackened lime upon it slowly, 
stirring it with a rake until it will not stick together ; 
sow as soon as possible. Rust is another foe the wheat- 
grower is obliged to encounter ; the remedy for this dis- 
ease is simply to supply the soil at once with ashes and 
sand, in addition to the careful selection and preservation 
of seed, as before described. If the farmer continues to 
sow his seed without this care in raising and preserving it, 
he will continue to have musty and smutty wheat. The 
only remedy for the insect enemies — the midge, the fly, 
the worm, and the climate bug — are careful selection and 
thorough tillage. Make the wheat grow so luxuriantly 
that the little which the insects consume will not be 
missed nor the growth checked." 



3l8 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

" And now I should like to be informed whether chess, 
one of the pests of our wheat-fields, is a specific plant, 
belonging to its own class and order, or wheat degen- 
erated by a cold soil and bad cultivation." 

" I am satisfied," said Dr. Parker, " that chess is a spe- 
cific plant, which springs up on cold lands when wheat 
fails, just as charlock comes into a feeble barley-field, and 
the mistletoe finds its home on the oak and apple tree. It 
evidently does not belong to the same genus or species 
with wheat ; and I have no idea that any mode or degree 
of cultivation would ever convert it into mature and perfect 
wheat, which would undoubtedly be the case were it in 
any degree a diseased form of that grain. The old idea 
of Pliny that both wheat and barley had a tendency to 
degenerate into oats, with which he classed chess, seems 
to have been accepted so far as wheat is concerned, until 
it has become a popular prejudice ; and the conversion of 
wheat into chess is generally believed in our day, as the 
conversion of wheat and barley into oats, a form of chess, 
was believed in the days of Pliny. But I accept no such 
theory. Plants do not break away from the class to which 
nature assigned them any more than animals leave the 
species to which they belong and join another at will." 

BARLEY. 

" I have found a very fair profit from barley," said John 
Thomas. " It grows well on strong land, and can be 
raised to great advantage on soil which is well prepared 
for seeding down to grass. In this connection, and for 
this purpose, it is the best of all the grains, — grass never 
catching so well as when sowed in the spring with barley. 
The amount of manure, moreover, which should be used 
in preparing the land thoroughly for a good grass crop, 
is also well suited to produce a good crop of barley. On 



GRAIN CROPS. 319 

Strong land, well prepared, after crops of potatoes and 
corn, ploughed in the autumn and cross-ploughed as early 
as possible in the spring, I have harvested fifty bushels of 
barley to the acre. I prepare my land as I would for any 
other crop requiring a fertile soil, and sow two bushels and 
a half to the acre. The manure used should be well- 
rotted barn-yard manure, composted with sand or sandy 
loam if it is to be applied to clay land. Barley is excellent 
food for fowls and swine ; and in small quantities, and 
for a short period, is beneficial to horses as a change. I 
have tried it on my milch cows, using barley-meal as 
a substitute for corn-meal ; but I have been obliged to 
abandon it, on account of the effect it produced on the 
milk. It generally commands a fair price for malting, but 
the market is so variable that it is hardly safe to raise it 
for this purpose alone. The straw is excellent food for 
cattle, better than the straw of any other grain. On the 
whole, Mr. President, were it not so useful to sow in the 
spring with grass-seed for the purpose of laying down 
grass lands, I think I should abandon barley entirely. I 
have often combined oats and barley, equal parts of each, 
and sowed them for fodder, with a very good result. I 
think the two united make a much more valuable winter 
food than either alone." 

RYE. 

"Which do you prefer, spring or winter rye.''" asked 
Mr. Hopkins of the Club generally. 

"I have land," said Moses Person in reply, "just suited 
to rye, light, somewhat stony, and warm. I find I can get 
a better crop of winter rye than I can of that sowed in 
the spring. I have manured this kind of land heavily, say 
with nine or ten cords of good barn-yard manure, and have 
secured what is called a large crop, — thirty-five bushels 
to the acre. But I have seldom found it remunerative, 



320 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

even with the price usually paid for the straw. I am sure 
I could have made more money from my manure, had I 
applied it to different land and some other crop. I use 
for my rye crop, therefore, lands which are not well 
adapted to anything else, lands too light for corn or 
barley or grass ; and with a moderate supply of manure I 
get a crop that pays pretty well. If I had no such land 
as this, I should probably raise but little rye. On light 
land like this, I use about two bushels of seed to the acre. 
I look upon rye as a luxury in my house, and on rye straw 
as a luxury in my stable. That is all." 

" Does anybody raise buckwheat } " asked Mr Hopkins. 

" Yes," replied Ben Adams, " I do ; I always raise a 
little on an out-of-the-way lot, the flowers for my bees, the 
grain for my hens and pigeons and my breakfast-table, 
and the straw for nothing. I should not call it much of 
a crop, anyway." 

"I think," said Mr. Hopkins, "this completes the list 
of grain crops, and that we have given them a fair dis- 
cussion, and I hope a profitable one. Before adjourning 
the Club I desire, however, to bring to a satisfactory con- 
clusion in the mind of every gentleman present a circum- 
stance which has given rise to some unpleasantness here, 
and to great anxiety throughout the town. I refer to the 
charges made against Mr. John Thomas as a public officer 
in this place. You observed, I doubt not, that while the 
excitement was at its height, I refrained from expressing 
an opinion on the subject. Perhaps I was over-cautious, 
but I was really at a loss what to do or say. The events 
came upon me so rapidly, and rumors thickened so fast, 
that I could not immediately bring order out of the chaos 
into which my mind was thrown ; and I therefore silently 
watched the current of events as they passed before me. 
Had I been as young and inexperienced as the School- 
master, or as fervid and positive as Clara Bell, I might 



GRAIN CROPS. 321 

have clone better. It must have been noticed by you all 
that when the matter had arrived at a sort of conclusion 
and had brought about the defeat of Mr. Thomas as a 
Selectman of this town, I accepted his statement of his 
innocence, and gave him a cordial welcome to my house, 
at the last meeting of the Club. Now, I did this just as 
a large majority of the people of this town did it, — from 
our instinctive conviction that he had been wronged, and 
a natural feeling that even an appearance of injustice 
should be summarily atoned for by a generous people. 
This is natural. It always occurs in similar cases. It 
may not always be wise, and we may sometimes forgive 
and restore a rogue. But it is natural : and it is a curi- 
ous illustration of the desire we have to give every man 
the benefit of a doubt, most especially after we have pro- 
nounced his condemnation. 

" But to my mind, in the case of Mr. Thomas there was 
more than this. He had the benefit of an unspotted 
character. He had borne himself well here during a long 
life, and he was entitled to the advantage to be derived 
from long, faithful, and honest public service, and private 
good deportment. I think a moral character well estab- 
lished should be favorable evidence for every man, and the 
most positive evidence should alone destroy it. Against 
all intricacy of testimony, against all conflicting statements 
on the part of the accused, against all apparent inconsist- 
ency, this should stand as unimpeached testimony, until 
all entangling circumstances are weighed, and the over- 
whelming and confusing statements which surround the 
accused are thoroughly understood. The advantage of all 
this I gave Mr. Thomas. And now I am happy to say to 
you all, that this spontaneous acquittal, this natural tribute 
to the character of Mr. Thomas, has been confirmed by 
examinations made since our last meeting. Those of us 
who, from a desire that public morals should in no way be 
21 



322 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAAI. 

outraged or offended, allowed the storm to rage unheeded, 
are now satisfied ; and I have learned that there is a 
higher guide to judgmenit than a mere accumulation of 
charges and statements alone. The accounts of the alms- 
house show that no irregularity whatever existed there 
during the administration of John Thomas ; and the record 
of the Board of Selectmen shows that, on all occasions, 
he was the first man to examine all doubtful matters, and 
to provide a remedy for all wrong. Of this the present 
board are entirely satisfied, after the most careful investi- 
gation. And in justice to Mr. Thomas, I must say it ap- 
pears that on one occasion, an irregularity on the part of 
the keeper of the almshouse was exposed by him, against 
the expressed wishes of Mr. Ilsley, at that time his asso- 
ciate on the board. It seems, moreover, that the charge 
so freely made by one of our townsmen, that Mr. Thomas 
had grossly cheated him in the sale of a cow, is wholly 
unfounded, the animal having been bought in the market 
by Thomas and resold to the complainant, at his special 
desire, without removing her from the ground. She really 
never came into Thomas's possession, and he knew no 
more about her when he sold her than when he bought 
her. I state this now as an act of justice to a valuable 
member of this Club, and as a warning to us all never to 
condemn a man unheard. The evil of such a course is 
incalculable ; and the fact that such an act of injustice 
may be committed without its merited punishment en- 
courages all intriguers, slanderers, and villains to do their 
dirty work. I congratulate you that this is all over now. 
I congratulate John Thomas on his restored reputation 
in this town. And I shall congratulate the town when it 
manifests to him a determination to bestow on him once 
more her confidence, and avail herself of his valuable 
services." 

" And now I breathe freely," said Mr. Howe ; " and all 



GRAIN CROPS. 32^ 

my doubts are removed. The power of character is great, 
but the power of undoubted testimony is after all supreme 
in the mind of a guardian and guide of public morals and 
religion." 

" I never believed a word of the stuff," said William 
Jones. 

Dr. Parker thought the diagnosis was bad in the begin- 
ning. Squire Wright respected the sentiment and recog- 
nized the value of character ; but he still leaned upon 
the legal power of the evidence. The Schoolmaster said 
nothing ; his face told plainly enough what his feelings 
were. John Thomas, too, was silent, and quietly withdrew, 
hastening home to Huldah and his fireside. All rejoiced 
that the war was over. Peter Ilsley wished it had never 
begun. The Club dispersed, and every man went to his 
own home, ready now to apply the lesson of justice and 
charity which the last few weeks had taught. 



324 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 



TWENTY-SECOND MEETING. 

MARKET GARDENING. 

JIM BELL'S SICKNESS AND DEATH. — CLARA'S SORROW. — SOPHRONIA 
SECCOMB'S LETTER. — MRS. SARAH BELL DESIRES PRAYERS. 

J IM BELL was evidently growing weaker clay by day. 
He had been confined to his house almost all winter, with 
what in more primitive days was called consumption of 
the blood, but what is known in our day — when the 
refinement of science occupies one end of society and the 
ingenuity and audacity of quackery occupy the other — 
as follicular atrophy. For months he had been quiet, pa- 
tient, submissive, and declining. It was enough for him to 
sit at the southwest window of his sunny little sitting-room, 
and watch the rise and fall of winter, — the spasmodic ap- 
proach of arctic cold reigning a few hours and then retiring, 
until his sway was established in days and nights of hard 
and biting frost, — the white and shining fields, the twigs 
bedecked with crystals and brilliants, the raging storms, 
the lengthening days, the embrowned and departing snow- 
banks, the dark patches of reappearing earth in mid-field, 
the lingering mists of the great thaw, the breaking clouds, 
the sudden return of the frost king from his cold blue 
chambers in the northwest, and his reluctant surrender to 
the sweet south ; it was enough for him to watch all this, 
and as he passed on, leave his little world — the mill, the 
club, the church, the town — behind. As spring approached, 
and the sun tempted him abroad, he crept feebly forth to 
listen to the hum of his wheel once more ; and he found 
consolation in the promise which the roaring brook, just 



MARKET GARDENING. 



325 



freed from wintry bonds, and the clattering kingfisher, 
just returned to his summer quarters, gave of the bounty 
and beauty of the opening season. But his interviews with 
nature A\ere short ; his home was his only place ot repose. 




JIM BELL S HOME. 



his only sunlight was the cheerful radiance of Clara's face ; 
his sweetest music was the sound of her voice. And so 
he waited and watched. 

And there in the stillness of those country hours a 
feeble and uneventful life grew fainter and fainter. Jim 
Bell was not an old man, and he had never been a young 
one. The measure of his life had always been small, as 
small as maturity in youth and immaturity in old age 



326 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

could make it. His years were not many, and his circuit 
was narrow. He had neither been a vigorous sinner nor 
an ardent saint. And in the midst of his commonplace 
cheerfulness and his mild and slender activity, his sad and 
impenetrable silence was oppressive and bewildering. In 
all demonstrative powers Mrs. Bell was far his superior. 
She was hearty and prompt, and strong and positive, as 
well as truly good-hearted. She was a bouncing girl when 
Jim married her, and as time went on she seemed to gain 
all that he lost, to expand as he shrank, to absorb every 
vital force and energy which left him, to grow as he de- 
clined ; and so when he had become prematurely old and 
was ready to return to the dust, she was just entering upon 
an affluent and well-established maturity. In her youth 
she was redundant, and having passed through all the trials 
of middle life, she was redundant still ; while in the atmos- 
phere of her plenitude poor Jim had faded away to noth- 
ing. It was touching to see how exhausted and how utterly 
submissive he was, as in the midst of abounding life and 
the refulgence of opening spring he was patiently passing 
away. He never murmured, but he became more and 
more childlike, until in the early hours of a soft May morn- 
ing, with the sunlight irradiating his room where he lay, 
and the southwest wind bearing through his open win- 
dow the sweet perfume of the budding earth, his sun was 
darkened and his breath was hushed. The scene was so 
peaceful and so natural, that the mourners almost forgot to 
mourn, even as they who watch the setting sun accept the 
darkness and repose of the evening hours, and turn their 
eyes with faith and confidence to the breaking light of the 
new-born day. No hum of busy industry disturbed the re- 
pose ; no cloud of disappointed ambition cast its shadow 
there. The only pang was the pang of parting. 

During all these months of sickness and sorrow Charles 
Ingalls had taken up his abode in Jim Bell's house, — not 



MARKET GARDENING. 327 

exactly in accordance with modern proprieties, but entirely 
in accordance with Clara's comfort and happiness. His 
work as a teacher was ended, and his work as a law 
student had begun. And as his mind toiled on through 
the opening studies of the great profession he had chosen, 
he found infinite strength and satisfaction in his association 
with Clara, who not only encouraged him with her quick 
thought in the path he was pursuing, but led him away 
into the refreshment of those springs of knowledge which 
are more tasteful and sparkling, and which belong espe- 
cially to woman and to the feminine side of man. His 
presence was moreover of material benefit to the miller's 
family, whose income had never been great, and was now 
cut off entirely. Prematurely introduced to the necessi- 
ties and responsibilities of life, he and Clara could not 
shut their eyes to that practical wisdom which makes life 
peaceful and happy, and gives a substantial foundation to 
all the highest aspirations and deepest sentiments. They 
learned to live and grieve together, as well as to love and 
rejoice. And they learned also how to use best their 
slender means for the cultivation of those faculties which 
adorn and beautify the hard and practical walks of life. 

" What a new life death is ! " said Clara, as she sat 
looking sadly over the familiar landscape, towards sunset 
of the day when the simple funeral of her father took place. 
" My father never appeared so truly himself to me as now. 
He never bore the world well ; and somehow he knew that 
I knew it. And now that there is no world to him, I can 
see him as he really was, unbent by any burden. How 
glad he must be to rest from his labors ! Don't you envy 
such rest, Charles .'' " 

" Why, Clara, do you ? " said Charles Ingalls. " Life is 
a great blessing to me now. When I rest, I want to rest 
from my labors. I do not desire to resign my joys or lose 
my opportunity. I think, Clara, death is a new life only 
when this life is worn out." 



328 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

Clara was lost in thought as the vision of her father, 
released and purified, absorbed her on the one hand, and 
her love for Charles bound her on the other. She envied 
the repose of the one because she did not realize what it 
really meant, and she rejoiced in the vigorous and abound- 
ing life of the other, because she felt that her own being 
was involved in it. While she was occupied and lost in 
this conflict she was suddenly brought to her senses by 
her mother, who broke in with all her vital force, and 
dispelled every imaginary charm by announcing that tea 
was ready. 

"Come, children, come to supper!" exclaimed the thrifty 
lady, who on all occasions was " cumbered about much 
serving." 

Charles started up, and Clara followed him, rejoicing still 
in her spiritual exaltation. But the realities of life soon 
overcame her, — the vacant place at the table, the newly 
arranged room where her father died, the manifest prepa- 
ration already made to go on through life without him, 
brought her to a realization of her loss, and she was driven 
to her own little room in a paroxysm of grief Her phi- 
losophy was all gone ; and she felt that there was at least 
one sorrow which she must bear through life. 

When Charles returned to the place where he and Clara 
had entered upon the great problem of life and death, he 
found her there before him, softened and drooping, as if a 
tempest had passed over her. She had taken her sorrow 
to herself, for a time at least, and she turned her conversa- 
tion to the topics in which they were mutually interested. 
Charles spoke of the fervid beauty of Mr. Howe's prayer at 
the funeral ; but she turned at once from that and inquired 
about the last meeting of the Club ; and as she enlarged 
upon the members of that active and useful institution, 
she came naturally upon the trials and troubles of John 
Thomas. 



MARKET GARDENING. 329 

" By the way, Charles," said she, " I received a letter 
yesterday which I am sure you would be glad to hear, 
relating to the town-meeting. I had entirely forgotten it. 
I hardly understand it ; but perhaps you will tell me what 
it means." 

She brought the letter, and read as follows : — 

Berryton, April 24, iS — . 

My dear Miss Bell: — I have just heard with supreme 
delight of the noble stand taken by you at a recent town- 
meeting in Jotham. I address you as Aliss Bell, because I 
have observed that married women are generally too much 
subdued by the discipline of life to be able to rise above its 
conventionalities, and make public assertion of the great prin- 
ciples which underlie state and society in a republic like ours. 
I congratulate you on your domestic condition, therefore, 
which has left you free to arrive untrammelled at that ma- 
turity of female life and thought which I assure you has ena- 
bled me to look calmly on while the great strife is raging, 
out of which is to come emancipated humanit}". I know not 
how far this strife is to be carried, — no finite mind can know. 
But when I behold a defiant spirit like yours, bravely entering 
the field of conflict, my heart takes courage, and I feel assured 
that the day of redemption draweth nigh. If every woman in 
the land would take upon herself the duty of regulating and 
controlling one member of the opposite se.x, as firmly and 
successfully as you controlled the young man whom you in- 
spired to speak for the right in that rude town-meeting, the 
trials Avhich we suffer under the operation of the law would 
soon cease. I trust and pray that this may soon be done. The 
great female over-soul must and will be heard, pouring its soft 
but potent appeal into the ear of every man, as the still, small 
voice of the Lord was heard above the raging elements, and 
gave inspiration and power to the prophet. I rejoice that you 
have been saved in your passage through the frivolous path of 
youth, and a^'e now ready to dedicate your mature powers to 
the great cause. The work is hardlv vet begun, I know ; but I 



330 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

feel assured it will go on until every avenue of life will be open 
to us, and our rights and privileges will be confirmed for our 
own elevation, and for the mental and moral benefit of man, 
whom we are now compelled to obey. I may not live to witness 
this triumph ; but I cannot doubt that the day of social and 
civil unification will soon dawn, in which all artificial distinc- 
tions will be swept awa}'. Pray write me and give me an ac- 
count of those experiences in life which have brought you to 
your lofty and defiant position. 

Truly yours in all aspiration, 

SOPHRONIA SeCCOMB. 
Miss Clara Bell, Jotham, Mass. 

" There," said Clara, " what do you make of that .? I 
don't exactly understand what Miss Seccomb means. I 
hope I have done nothing which does not belong to a 
young girl whom God has blessed with the proudest and 
sweetest love that a young girl ever dreamed of." And 
her face glowed with a radiant affection, which brought 
herself and Charles to that mutual ecstasy which has 
never yet found expression in words, and probably never 
will, so long as the silent and more effective substitute 
shall endure. 

" Why, Clara," said Charles, " Miss Seccomb means well 
enough undoubtedly. She believes, as I do, that society 
needs Reforming in many matters relating to women. If 
she had known you were governed by a generous senti- 
ment alone, and not by any well-defined doctrine, I think 
she would have written a better letter than she has. If 
she could see you now, my precious beauty, I am sure she 
would learn that disappointment is not necessary to raise 
woman up to the standard of assertion and moral heroism. 
But don't be troubled, my dear. I understand the direc- 
tion of your mind better than you do, and I cannot be too 
grateful for that natural inclination which enabled you to 
lead me up to my highest duty fearlessly and without de- 



MARKET GARDEXING. 33 1 

lay. I don't think I was ever made for a reformer ; I am 
too much incHned to analyze and defend. But I accept 
naturally all reformatory thought ; and while I live, I 
mean that in high stations and in low my voice shall 
always be raised in defence of the wronged and the op- 
pressed, and in response to the stern demands of those 
who insist upon the right though the heavens fall. But 
you and I don't want to discuss these things now. I can 
trust you, and I hope you can trust me, to accept and 
maintain the best thought as time goes on. I wish we 
knew Miss Seccomb. Don't you think our joy would do 
her good .'' " 

Clara made no answer to this long speech. What the 
wrongs were she did not exactly know ; but she felt as- 
sured that she could meet them when she did know, and 
that instead of leading Charles, it would be only necessary 
to go hand in hand with him in obedience to their mutual 
recognition of truth and justice. She felt, therefore, at 
perfect liberty to drop the subject, and to abandon all 
metaphysical speculation until the time came for them to 
act. Somehow she felt disinclined to devote' any more 
of the rosy hours to disquisitions upon state and society. 
And so as the soft summer night shut down over her, she 
reclined her head on Charles's shoulder and gave herself 
up to sweeter visions, in which the spirit of her father 
hovered over her, and the future opened with all the brill- 
iant promises which love and courage always make. That 
day this young girl had travelled with her lover far on the 
journey of life. 

The death of Jim Bell did not long occupy the thought 
of Jotham ; death and misfortune seldom do, anywhere. 
He had been respected during life for his honesty and 
good behavior. He had received the kind attention of 
his neighbors during his last sickness, and they had all 
attended his funeral with courteous solemnity. On the 



Z2>^ THE FARM- YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

Sunday after his burial Mrs. Bell had attended church 
with the usual propriety, and had presented to Mr. Howe 
the note customary on such occasions at that day in 
Jotham ; to wit : — 

Mrs. Sarah Bell desires prayers that the death of her hus- 
band may be sanctified to herself and her family for their 
spiritual and everlasting good. 

And Mr. Howe had made this now abandoned and 
almost forgotten custom the text for a fervid passage in 
the long prayer, and a strong paragraph on a good life and 
immortality in his sermon. 

This was all over now, and the work of the village went 
on as usual. The mill which Jim Bell had tended so 
many years, and which was indispensable to the people, 
was rented to competent parties for the accommodation 
of the town and the benefit of Mrs. Bell ; and John Thomas 
was called in to advise and arrange matters for the future 
welfare of the bereaved family. Of course in this work 
Mr. Howe was his counsellor, and when they had accom- 
plished this service they turned their attention to the 
Club, of which they were still the executive committee. 
They determined upon a meeting, issued their notice, and 
selected, as a subject for discussion, 

MARKET CxARDENING. 

Mr. Hopkins called the meeting to order with his usual 
promptness and courtesy, and proceeded to open the sub- 
ject in a general way as introductory to a discussion of 
each individual crop which forms a part of the business 
of market gardening. " The application of labor," said he, 
" to small parcels of land for the purpose of raising a crop 
suitable to a local market, and commanding a price fixed 
by local demands, constitutes what I conceive to be the 
law of the best American agriculture. When we devote 



MARKET GARDENING. 333 

ourselves to the business of growing the staples which 
enter into the markets of the world, we submit our in- 
dustry to the hands of those who enjoy every advantage 
over us. As I have often reminded you, it is not easy to 
compete with the wool-growers of Texas and California, 
who enjoy almost unlimited pastures and a climate so 
mild that shelter in the winter season is unnecessary. The 
farmer of these sections, where land commands a high 
price, cannot furnish grain to the market in competition 
with those who occupy the broad and cheap and fertile 
prairies of the West. And even the Western grain-grower 
finds himself often crippled by the producers of countries 
where labor commands but a nominal price in comparison 
with his own. As land advances in value and the wages 
of labor increase, the farmer must, if possible, escape from 
that competition which can be brought against him by 
more primitive forms of society, and by those who hold 
lands at the settlers' rates. I think this is the great lesson 
which we must learn in this country, as it has already 
been learned elsewhere. Go with me to those nations 
whose population is devoted in any degree to agriculture 
as an industry, and you will find that it is the special 
farmers who are the most prosperous. It is not the hemp- 
growers of Russia nor the grain-growers of Hungary and 
the Black Sea who constitute the most prosperous farmers 
of the old countries. The careful cultivators in Germany 
and Holland, the market-gardeners around London and 
Paris, the men engaged in supplying the local markets 
with the necessaries of life and with the fruits and vege- 
tables which are called luxuries, are the men who hold in 
their hands the agricultural prosperity of those sections 
of the earth. And so it is in our own country. There is 
a shifting and uncertain prosperity, sometimes very great, 
which attends the growing of staples for the commerce 
of the world. But as I look around to ascertain where 



334 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

the long-continued and permanent prosperity lies, I find it 
among those who, obedient to an inevitable law, gather 
around the great aggregations of population and supply 
them with food, or devote themselves to some one branch 
of cultivation which is especially adapted to the quality 
of the land which they occupy. 

" Of the first, the supplying of local markets here in con- 
tradistinction to general husbandry, I call to mind one 
notable illustration : I was led at one time to believe that 
one county in our State was declining in an agricultural 
point of view from year to year, until I feared that this 
industry would be entirely destroyed within its limits. 
I found that as time went on the cattle of the county 
were diminishing ; the corn crop was reduced more than 
one half; the grain crops were dwindling continually; the 
products of the dairy, butter and cheese, were becoming 
smaller and smaller ; the hay crop grew less from year to 
year ; and it seemed to me that the assertion that agri- 
culture was dying out was literally true. But when I found 
that the sale of milk at large prices was constantly increas- 
ing, and the production of market-garden crops more than 
supplied the deficiency in the other crops, I discovered 
that the farmers of this county had learned the law which 
should govern their business, and that they were guided by 
the same rule as the manufacturer and merchant adopt in 
order to secure their prosperity. An attempt to supply a 
market with inappropriate commodities must, in accordance 
with every human law, fail. I think there is but one suc- 
cessful violation of this law known in the history of Ameri- 
can commerce. When Lord Timothy Dexter sent a cargo 
of warming-pans to the West Indies, he laid the foundation 
of a disastrous commercial enterprise, which would have 
ended as it ought to have done, had not the ingenuity of 
man converted them into molasses ladles, and thus forced 
them into an applicability which the exporter had never 



MARKET GARDENING. 335 

anticipated. Of the second, the devotion of land to crops 
to which it is especially adapted, the encouraging instances 
are numerous. It would hardly have occurred to the 
casual observer that the peat-bogs of Cape Cod could be 
converted into some of the most profitable agricultural 
acres of the State. And yet so it is. When it was found 
that under the comparatively mild climate of the Cape 
* the cranberry grew with great luxuriance on the meadows 
there,' the application of skill and judgment in clearing 
those lands and controlling the flowage of the waters se- 
cured to the farmer who occupied that section a golden 
opportunity for prosperous labor. The use of the light 
and warm and rich lands of Massachusetts and Connecticut 
for the onion crop has been a source of large income to 
those States. It would not be easy to estimate the profits 
which have been derived from the cultivation of choice 
vegetables on lands and in localities adapted to them. 
And I urge this mode of farming upon those who enjoy the 
advantages which lie all around you here. It must not be 
supposed, however, that this business can be transacted 
without diligent and careful attention. When Burke de- 
clared that farming required more judgment and foresight 
for its successful prosecution than any other business on 
earth, he uttered an undeniable truth. If he had applied the 
remark to market gardening especially, he would have stated 
a truth still stronger. And this is one great advantage of 
this mode of farming above all others. It not only brings 
the farmer into the immediate association of populous sec- 
tions with all their social advantages, but it also appeals at 
once to his most energetic faculties to enter upon their 
work. We admire in this country the intelligence which 
is roused to action by all commercial and manufacturing 
associations. In special agriculture as I have described it 
we may find the same opportunity. It is the active and 
civilized mode of farming to which the American should 



336 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

naturally tend, attended as it is by all the privileges and 
opportunities which belong to cultivated life. 

" There is also the advantage which the farming com- 
munity may derive from a more general use of the products 
of the garden as articles of food, and which should never 
be forgotten. I think there can be no doubt that the 
health of our people suffers materially for the want of that 
vegetable diet which is so freely used elsewhere. The use 
of salted meats in this country has undoubtedly been and 
is now a great source of ill health, and perhaps of active 
disease. We have a tendency here to an unusual develop- 
ment of bony structure, and a deficient supply of muscle and 
tissue. This is especially true on our thin and pur lime- 
stone soils. We need more of that rotundity and consti- 
tutional affluence which are to be found in lower and more 
humid countries, and among those people whose diet is 
largely composed of vegetable products. The rural popu- 
lation of Holland and Denmark and Germany and many 
parts of France can teach us a lesson in this direction. 
And I trust that for the health of our people, if for nothing 
else, we shall turn our attention to the growth of vegetables 
on our farms. We are improving our buildings ; we are 
learning to adorn our highways ; we are ornamenting our 
homes with plants and flowers ; we are manifesting an im- 
proving taste everywhere. Let us not then forget our gar- 
dens, in which we can gratify the eye and from which we 
can draw an ample supply of most nutritious and healthful 
food. I trust you will now discuss the various crops which 
come within the range of the branch of agriculture which 
I have been discussing." 

POTATOES. 

" Mr. President," said Dr. Parker, " I am inclined to 
introduce the potato into that class of crops which are 



MARKET GARDENING. 337 

considered to belong to the business of market gardening. 
It is so difficult to raise, has been so cut otf by disease, 
and is so profitable when carefully cultivated as an early 
crop, that I think it is entitled to our most careful consid- 
eration. The land best suited to the potato is undoubtedly 
that which is best supplied with carbon. The manures 
best adapted to it are those which have the largest supply 
of the same material. And so I would select new lands, 
or such as are well supplied with peat and vegetable mould. 
In new lands, which have not been exhausted by long 
cultivation, or which have not been overloaded with nitro- 
geneous manures, the mode of cultivating the potato is 
comparatively simple. But in lands which have been long 
cultivated, and where the potato crop must be raised as a 
market-garden crop, the utmost care is necessary in order 
to secure even a reasonable return for seed, manure, and 
labor applied. 

"I remember listening to a long and interesting discus- 
sion of potato culture in Maine, and I came to the con- 
clusion that nitrogeneous manures were generally injurious 
to the potato. There were many modes of cultivation 
described, but that which seemed to meet with the largest 
favor and to secure the most ample reward, was described 
by a farmer from Aroostook County, who ploughed his 
land as early in spring as possible, cross-ploughed it and 
pulverized it well, and then laid it up into deep drills. 
Into these drills he placed an ample supply of strawy 
manure taken from his stables, — manure in which was a 
small proportion of stable manure from cattle and horses, 
and an abundance of straw. In this manure the potatoes 
were planted, and the furrows were turned back upon them, 
and lightly rolled. The crop was described as large and 
of excellent quality. The universal testimony was that 
green manure was unsuited to this crop ; and the rough 
surface of many potatoes was ascribed to the use of such 

22 



338 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

manure as this, and especially to the use of heated and 
mouldy or fire-fanged horse-manure. 

" I am aware that the potato cannot be raised here as it 
can in newer countries, or in newer sections of this country. 
But I am confident that as an early crop it is most valuable, 
and as a nutritious vegetable it is entitled to our utmost 
care. 

" The land best adapted to potatoes can be properly 
manured with muck as a basis of the compost-heap. Thus 
combined, almost all well-rotted and decomposed manures 
are useful. Plaster thrown into the hill is always a valu- 
able adjunct, and I doubt not that ashes applied super- 
ficially may be highly valuable. The potato seems not to 
be a gross feeder, but to be dainty in its choice of food. 
While it will seldom grow well in rich, heavy, fat soils, 
with an abundance of nitrogeneous manures, I have seen it 
flourishing to the highest degree, and producing an abun- 
dance of tubers, in heaps of coal-ashes, which were ma- 
nured with a little decomposed manure in the hill. 

" I do not know that the potato will ever be restored to 
its former value as a field crop ; but I am confident that 
its yield may be largely increased by judicious fertilizing 
and careful cultivation." 

The points presented by Dr. Parker were enlarged upon 
by the members present, who entered into a conversational 
mode of treating the subject, until the hour arrived for 
adjournment. 

When the Club had scattered itself about the room, 
preparatory to bidding Mr. Hopkins good night, Dr. Parker 
was observed to approach Charles Ingalls with a degree of 
cordiality which had not been seen for months, and which 
indicated that the Doctor had recovered entirely from his 
old irritation, 

" I hope you enjoy the study of law," said he to Charles, 
" and that Miss Clara is reconciled to your being obedient 



MARKET GARDENING. 339 

to its requirements. Tell her to remember that a proper 
combination of the audacity of the reformer with the so- 
briety of the jurist is what makes men great." 

" I have reminded her of that already," replied Charles ; 
"but I am afraid she has not yet advanced beyond the 
homely truth contained in the familiar line, 

'But only great as I am good.' " 

"A first-rate beginning," said the Doctor; "and the 
foundation of more happiness and of more real worldly 
success than we are apt to suppose. But I think I can 
risk you both.' 

And Dr. Parker and Squire Wright walked home to- 
gether, while Charles Ingalls pursued his way thoughtfully 
alone. 



340 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 



TWENTY-THIRD MEETING. 

MARKET GARDENING (Continued). 

POTATOES. — INSUBORDINATION. — PETER ILSLEY WANTS ROTATION. 
— CO-OPERATE OR QUIT. — INSIDE REFORM. 

1 HE spring was now advancing rapidly, and the farmers 
of Jotham found themselves obliged to turn from the theory 
to the active and vigorous practice of agriculture. The 
best of them had followed the example of Mr. Hopkins, 
and had hauled the great manure-heaps into the fields 
where they were to be used before the frost had begun 
to leave the ground. They had made haste to collect 
the year's supply of wood while the snow lay deep in the 
forests ; and hardly had the banks melted from the walls 
where they had been piled by the wintry gales, when the 
energetic husbandmen relaid and topped them, wherever 
the heaving frost and the vyandering hunters had thrown 
them down. The farm work of Jotham was, therefore, well 
up ; and it was found necessary to suspend the sessions 
of the Club during the active spring and summer months. 
It was deemed best, however, to have one more meeting 
before the final adjournment for the season, and an urgent 
call was issued to assemble at the house of the President, 
Mr. Hopkins, for the purpose of discussing the best mode 
of cultivating the potato, both as a garden and a field crop. 
"The potato," said Mr. Hopkins, after having called the 
Club to order, "will be the topic of discussion this even- 
ing, and I shall be happy to hear the views of the gentle- 
men present, in addition to those which they expressed 
at our last meeting." 



MARKET GARDENING. 34 1 

'' Mr. President," said Peter Ilsley, " I have tried for 
the last few years to raise early potatoes for the market, 
and have had poor success. The crop is so uncertain that 
I cannot depend upon it at all. One year I used nearly 
all the barn-yard manure I had upon a large field near my 
barn, which I planted early in the season, expecting to 
reap a large reward. The crop started well enough, but 
the season was warm and wet, and I lost my crop entirely. 
Not a bushel of potatoes did I get from that field ; and 
had I not raised a good supply of flat turnips after the 
potato-tops had been removed, I should have lost my 
manure, my labor, and the use of my land for that year at 
least. I have never dared to run such a risk since. I am 
afraid the day of potatoes as a field crop in this region is 
over. What I raise for sale now, I get from a small patch 
of ground, the cultivation of which I can afford to lose 
if the crop fails. I have no doubt we may be benefited 
by a careful selection of manure and a frequent change of 
seed. But I find it poor business to spend my time over 
a crop which at best is small, and which belongs to the 
things that are dying out. Sickness and old age are bad 
enough among ourselves ; but when it comes to fruits and 
vegetables, I think we want youth and vigor. If any 
section of the country is suited to potato-growing, I move 
that that section have the privilege, and the profit, if there 
is any. I used to rank my potato crop as the first in 
value on my farm ; now I rank it as the last. Some years 
it pays and some years it does not. I can count it in with 
other crops, but I can't depend upon it for a living." 

"I don't blame Peter Ilsley for being discouraged about 
potatoes," said Sam Barker. " I have had a hard time 
with them myself, but I can't help raising them in spite 
of all my trouble, and I think we can do pretty well with 
them still, if we will be careful in choosing seed, soil, and 
manure. I find the soil has a great effect on them. I 



342 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAAL 

have raised first-rate Jackson Whites in one field and most 
miserable ones in another on my farm the same season. 
In old times it seemed as if all kinds of land would pro- 
duce potatoes ; now, it seems as if hardly any land would 
do it. So we must make our choice of soils. Potatoes 
grow rank and coarse in heavy soils, and they grow scabby 
in gravelly soils, especially if you use green manure. In 
a dry, fresh, and fine loam, moderately rich, they will 
grow well. What Dr. Parker said at our last meeting 
about the manure fit for potatoes is true. I plant my 
potatoes in hills, just as my father did. I think a potato 
needs a good, loose, well-pulverized bed of earth .to grow 
in. I shall never forget how, when I was a boy, we pre- 
pared our soil with good ploughing, fixed the hills three 
feet and a half apart, put in a plenty of light rotten. ma- 
nure, hoed and cultivated twice, and made of each hill a 
good warm bed, in which the potatoes could grow without 
being troubled. And such hills ! Why, I have seen four 
of them fill a bushel basket. I don't know as it was the 
hills ; but it was something, and I don't find such a great 
growth or even a chance for it, to my mind, in the drill 
fashion of these days." 

" What Mr. Barker says is more than half true," said 
John Thomas. " I like to try to raise potatoes just as he 
does. And I must confess that I like the old-fashioned 
hill, though nobody uses it now, — and everybody says you 
can get a larger crop from drills. I think, as those who 
have spoken before me do, that much depends on soil and 
manure in raising this crop. But I am sure that a great 
deal also depends on the choice of seed. I change my seed 
often. I am obliged to do this. Potatoes grow smaller in 
size and less in crops in this region, unless you renew your 
seed by getting that which grows where the potato is com- 
paratively strong and healthy. If I have a good variety 
which originated in the new lands of Maine and it holds 



MARKET GARDENING. 343 

its own there, I get my seed each year from the farmers 
in that State. Then I am very careful what I get and 
how I plant it. I avoid an overgrown potato, — one which 
is coarse and heavy, as overgrown ones are apt to be, — 
on the ground that it is not in a vigorous and healthy 
condition. I avoid a small potato also, on the ground 
that it is immature and is not fit to continue the species. 
I select a medium- sized, firm, well-shaped potato, with a 
smooth, healthy skin, and with a substance which indi- 
cates a good quality. I would have every seed potato the 
best cooking potato I can find in my heap. It is seldom 
that I cut a potato when I have selected it as I have just 
described. I may be mistaken, but I think the vigor of 
our potato crop has been greatly reduced by the habit 
of cutting out each eye and planting it separately, or 
by quartering the potato and planting quarters. I have 
found the crop degenerating most rapidly in those sec- 
tions where the poverty of the people induced them to 
plant the eyes alone and use the balance of the tubers for 
food. And I am not alone in this observation. Is it 
unreasonable to suppose that nature combined in each 
individual potato all the elements necessary for reproduc- 
tion, and that all the eyes belonging to each tuber are 
required to make a healthy and strong and fruitful cluster 
of plants .-* This is my idea, at any rate. And I am op- 
posed, therefore, to gouging out the eyes of a potato for 
the purpose of extending its supply of seed, and with the 
expectation that the vigor of the potato will not be lost by 
the process. I do not doubt that the potato crop is subject 
to a destructive disease. I know it is, but I feel confident 
that it would have retained its vigor to this day had proper 
care been taken in selecting healthy seed and in placing 
it in a natural condition, with all its powers unimpaired, 
into soil well adapted to it and well prepared with plough 
and manure. It was found long ago that you could not 



344 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

raise a strong and vigorous cluster of vines from the crown 
of the potato with its numerous eyes. And I believe it 
would also be found, if proper observation were made, that 
the eyes scattered over the body of the tuber would pro- 
duce more fruitful vines if regulated by the force which 
lies in the crown, — that part which has been considered 
comparatively useless. I do not know what the experience 
of others may be, but this is mine so far as the selection 
and planting of the seed is concerned." 

" It is very curious and interesting," said Mr. Howe, 
" to see how man struggles to restore what is decaying, 
and how he values that which he is most in danger of 
losing. The wandering lamb always receives more care 
and more esteem than ' the ninety and nine which went 
not astray.' So while we have every variety of root crop, 
and soils adapted to each, and can have an abundance of 
turnips and beets and carrots and parsnips, all with com- 
paratively easy cultivation, we struggle for the potato still ; 
and I must confess that the discussion which this disease- 
stricken plant has brought out is, after all, the most 
interesting we have had. In offering my contribution 
to the debate, I recall a statement made not many years 
ago by a careful and sensible observer, who made investi- 
gations into the agriculture of one of the best counties 
of this Commonwealth. He says in that portion of his 
report which treats of the potato crop : — 

"'As respects the cultivation of this very useful and 
profitable root, many experiments have been made and 
various suggestions offered. The experiment made by a 
member of the committee is to seed with whole potatoes 
instead of cuttings, and the result was a large per cent 
above those that were cut, — rows standing side by side in 
the same field. Another member has also tried the experi- 
ment, only, however, to a limited extent, by cutting off the 
seed end, or the part having the greater number of eyes, 



MARKET GARDENING. 345 

and planting the other section, — that is, the smooth part, 
— and found these potatoes superior both in quantity 
and quality, the cultivation being the same. Doubtless 
the best-flavored potatoes are grown upon old pasture land, 
or lands that have never been cultivated, using a light 
dressing of plaster. The climate, also, has much to do 
with the potato crop? Probably the potatoes grown in the 
North of Ireland are superior to those raised in any other 
quarter of the world, while the same crop cultivated in 
France or Spain is very insipid. The northern counties 
of Scotland, it is said, produce this crop to much greater 
perfection than the south of England and Wales. So also 
those grown in Maine, New Hampshire, and Vermont are 
preferred to those cultivated as far south as forty degrees 
north latitude, or in Massachusetts even, — all of which may 
be attributed to different degrees of climate. Hence the 
location best adapted to this plant is between forty-five 
and fifty-five degrees north latitude. 

" ' Now the potato, it is well known, is a native of the 
high table-lands of South America. The soil of these 
regions is composed of vegetable substances, shell, and 
lime ; and on account of its elevation is well drained and 
dry. From this point the potato has been carried in every 
direction, into every latitude, into every climate, hot and 
cold, and into every variety of soil. It has also been culti- 
vated in accordance with the methods adopted in each one 
of these various sections. Small potatoes and large, eyes, 
and mutilated bits have all been used for the purposes of 
propagation, and we are now surprised that a plant thus 
trifled with is beginning to show signs of exhaustion. 
That all this violence is the cause of the various diseases 
which attack the potato I feel very confident ; and I am 
confident, also, that for all this no remedy will be found 
until by care and proper cultivation the plant is restored 
as nearly as possible to its natural health and strength. 



346 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

Insects and fungi will always attack a feeble vegetable 
growth ; and so around the potato, enfeebled as it is, the 
rot, the curled leaf, the rust, and the bug gather for their 
prey. The causes of this weakness are numerous. What 
ought we to expect of a potato crop, if we will insist on 
planting small, half-ripe tubers, deficient not only in health, 
but also in that element of starch which, being converted 
into sugar by fermentation, furnishes food for the young 
plant, and the absence of which must result in a feeble 
crop ? How can we hope to get a strong plant from a 
sprout which has been cut away in its very infancy from 
the mother-tuber which is intended to furnish it food 
through all its early life .-* Why should we encourage 
ourselves with the idea that we can produce strong and 
vigorous generations of plant-life if we will persist in using 
the seed which comes from diseased plants, and will refuse 
to renew our seed when it is evident that in no other way 
can our crop be restored .'* With what expectation of 
reward can we insist on planting our potatoes in soil 
manifestly unsuited to them 1 Why should we continue 
to weaken the potato, and then expect to secure a crop .'' 
Why should we, in a word, overfeed this plant with an 
excess of stimulating fertilizers, and then hope to retain 
its strength ? It has been well said that plants which are 
subjected to high cultivation do not ripen and consolidate 
their tissues so thoroughly as those of more moderate 
growth. Fruit trees cultivated in rich gardens, and mak- 
ing a large growth of wood, are certainly not capable of 
enduring so great climatic changes without injury as those 
which grow in poorer soils. The case is the same with 
the potato. The tubers are inflated and watery in conse- 
quence of a deficiency of starch, which should have been 
elaborated in the leaves and properly prepared for plant- 
growth ; the organs are overworked and overcharged with 
stagnant matter, and the whole plant feels the debilitating 



MARKET GARDENING. 347 

influence. This effect may not appear in the first or the 
second year, or indeed in many years ; but like the abuse 
of the human system by excesses of any kind, it will surely 
appear at some time. This anxiety to raise large crops, 
and to work the plant beyond its capacity by excessive 
stimulus, is very injurious, and will in the end destroy it. 
Moderate stimulus produces a firm texture and vigorous 
constitution. If, then, we will mutilate the plant and over- 
feed it, we must expect to be tormented with all these 
diseases which seize upon a plant whose constitution is 
enfeebled, — immaturity, decay, and fungi.' 

" I repeat, therefore, use healthy, sound and unmutilated 
seed ; select high, elevated lands for your potato ground, 
where the heats are not burning, and where the rains and 
dews do not chill ; avoid nitrogeneous manures, which are 
fruitful of fungi, and use wood-ashes, plaster, lime, salt, 
sulphur, which are fatal to the parasitic fungi wherever 
they reach them. I think a little scientific observation 
and a little common-sense may yet restore our potato crop 
to the respectable position which it held on these farms 
when they were new and their products were abundant." 

" I suppose potatoes are nutritious to all our animals," 
said Mr. Hopkins. " How should they be fed out.^" 

"To cattle," said John Thomas, — "cows and oxen 
and young cattle, — they should be fed raw. Experience 
teaches this, and the experiment to which we listened in 
the early days of our Club, in feeding roots raw and 
steamed, may also teach us a lesson with regard to po- 
tatoes." 

" If I fed them at all to horses, I should feed them raw," 
said William Jones, " though I must confess I consider 
them quite inferior to Swedish turnips for horses, young 
or old, and I seldom feed them unless it be for a change." 

" For poultry and swine," remarked Peter Ilsley, " they 
should be cooked, undoubtedly ; and if they are combined 



34^ THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

with meal or shorts in proper proportion, so much the bet- 
ter for the hens and the hogs." 

" And now," said Mr. Hopkins, " I think we have suf- 
ficiently discussed the subject before us; and with the 
hope that such of you as desire will remain for a little 
social conversation after this meeting is dissolved, I pro- 
pose that the Club adjourn to such time as may be deemed 
best by the committee, when our summer 'and autumn 
labors are over and winter is again upon us." 

And so, in accordance with this suggestion, and on 
motion of Mr. Howe, the Club adjourned for the season. 

The practical farmers who had gathered there to take 
counsel together with regard to the great industry in 
which they were all vitally interested, had come from the 
toil of a long spring day, and they were quite ready to 
return to their homes when the meeting broke up. The 
darkness of evening came on so slowly that it was quite 
late when the assembly was called to order, and its delib- 
erations were correspondingly late in coming to a close, — 
so late that these hard-worked citizens were glad to find 
repose. But the evening was raw and chilly, and there 
were those who were glad to linger around Mr. Hopkins's 
fire, which he had lighted to drive away the dampness and 
to cast its genial glow over the gathering of his friends. 
The brass andirons of ancient and sturdy pattern shone 
so brightly, the polished fender reflected the company so 
honestly, the strong figures on the rug came out so vividly 
in the firelight, that you could easily imagine that Winter 
was still howling about the house and roaring through the 
valleys with his hard and blustering sway. It was with 
that evident satisfaction that comes with the possession of 
pleasures a little out of season, that the less busy and 
toiling gentlemen present remained and drew around the 
fire for a sort of final chat. Mr. Hopkins lighted his cigar 
and took his ample arm-chair at the right of the fire, and 



MARKET GARDENING. 349 

in the row stretching round to the opposite corner sat Dr. 
Parker, dark, keen, and rotund, unmarked as yet by age ; 
Squire Wright, white-haired, strong, angular, and some- 
what formal and oracular ; the Rev. Mr. Howe, sedate and 
proper, and at the same time filled with humor and com- 
mon-sense ; John Thomas, calm, reserved, stiff, and honest ; 
Charles Ingalls, young and vigorous, impelled by great 
forces, and as simple as he was powerful, broad-browed, 
dark-eyed, and meditative ; Peter Ilsley, strong, rude, 
rough, and designing ; William Jones, cunning, adroit, 
airy, stylish, full of the accomplishments of him who lives 
by the mysteries wrapped up in what he calls a " harse " ; 
and Sam Barker, who debated everything, always had his 
own way, and never so exhausted himself by labor as to 
become unfit for such social and intellectual recreation as 
came within his reach. The cream of the Club was there. 
Some smoked, others did not. Mr. Howe and Charles 
Ingalls did not. 

" Well, gentlemen, the Club has flourished this last win- 
ter," said Mr. Hopkins. 

" Yes," said Squire Wright, " and I see no reason why 
it should not become a most valuable institution in our 
town. It ought to control public sentiment here, and de- 
throne the grocery and shoemaker's shop, which have ruled 
here for years." 

" And so it would," said Dr. Parker, " if it were not 
organized. Our people arm themselves against an organi- 
zation, no matter whether its object is good or bad. It is 
not easy to see how great objects are to be accomplished 
here, if this spirit of hostility to associated bodies is to 
continue. Each man among us has such an uncontrollable 
tendency ' to fight it out on his own hook,' like the soldier 
in the Revolution, that it seems as if a good cause even 
would die if supported by an association." 

" Not so," said the Schoolmaster. " Men believe, as I 



350 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

think, in association. Some defy it when they despise the 
object for which it is organized. Some shun it, when they 
cannot rule. Some hate it, because it is too strong for 
them. Some denounce it, because they cannot control it. 
All recognize its power, and all admire it so long as it 
serves their purposes." 

" There are those who never come together," said Dr. 
Parker. " Animals herd, but they seldom have a common 
cause. They gather together, and sometimes recognize a 
leader, whose superior strength secures the power to rule ; 
but they never organize, they never help each other. The 
existence of an animal is an individual existence in every 
sense of the word. A hundred wolves or a hundred horses 
are independent wolves and horses, and never unite except 
because led in a common direction for individual plunder 
or subsistence. No one gives another a lift. So in certain 
conditions of the human race. Lunatics never combine or 
organize. If they did, who could control them in our insane 
asylums .'' It is not often that confined criminals combine. 
If they did, who would undertake to manage a crowded 
jail .'' The rascals have not confidence enough in each 
other to make an extensive organization. No man can- tell 
the power of the depraved and the demented, if they re- 
tained that capacity to associate and work in harmony 
which belongs to those who, actuated by high motives, are 
engaged in a good cause." 

" Harmony," said Mr Howe, " is a good word to intro- 
duce in this connection. If association meant harmonious 
action, it would all be well enough. But so far as I know, 
it means rivalry and jealousy and designs and consequent 
deceit, and, too often, treachery." 

" Why, my dearly beloved pastor," replied the Doctor, 
" are n't you a little hard on human nature .'* I know men 
quarrel, — I suppose a sense of self-preservation drives 
them to this ; perhaps, also, a sense of self-aggrandize- 



MARKET GARDENING. 351 

ment. But because bad men exist it is no reason there 
should be ' no more cakes and ale.' The quarrels of asso- 
ciations are not the prominent and most distinguishing 
characteristics which they possess. Sewing-circles gossip, 
but they are not all gossip. Temperance societies wrangle, 
but they do not omit the weightier matters of the law. 
Parties are rent by contending factions, but they work 
in one direction for a common cause. Men carry their 
own individual characters into associated life, I know ; but 
it is not the bad characteristics which prevail. They tor- 
ment and confuse and trouble, and drive men into making 
asses of themselves, but they seldom rule. And I have 
often noticed that in large associations and small the mean 
and quarrelsome men seldom succeed. They may make 
mischief, but they are seldom called into power." 

" Now and then they win," said Peter Ilsley, inadver- 
tently, and then shrank away, remembering the last town- 
meeting, and wondering how in the world he could have 
blundered into such an unfortunate remark. 

" Yes, they do," said Mr. Hopkins, somewhat sharply, 
" but their power seldom lasts long. I have lived a life of 
reasonable length and of a good deal of activity, and I have 
never seen the time when somebody was not abusing every 
kind of association that I ever heard of They abuse secret 
societies, — which certainly have the merit of keeping their 
quarrels to themselves, — because thev cannot get into 
them I suppose ; they abuse corporations, because they are 
too improvident to secure any of the rewards of this com- 
bination of capital ; they abuse religious societies, because 
they are not the deacons ; they abuse parties, because 
they cannot lead their councils. But the striking feature 
of these complainers is that they agree as little with each 
other as with society in all its organizations. A consent- 
ing mind is a good thing, — 'a unanimous mind,' as some- 
body has called it, — not a subservient or an obedient mind. 



352 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

but a reasonable one ; just and good-tempered as well as 
uncompromising. I always liked the Quakers, — following 
a high standard, advocating and toiling for human freedom, 
encouraging temperance, virtue, honesty, peace, and never 
wrangling over their work. I see no reason why a reformer 
should be the worst-tempered man in the world, or make 
himself disagreeable to everybody about him. The best 
of them do not. Luther did not ; Mr. Garrison does not ; 
some of the little ones do. But this complaining is no 
argument against associated effort. They say societies 
and parties are selfish and corrupt. That may be ; then 
let the purifiers take the matter in hand. The good men 
can rule if they will, — rule within an associated organiza- 
tion, if they will only attend to the business ; rule if they 
will begin at the beginning and not dash in at the middle ; 
rule just as well without ruin as with it, almost always 
better. I suppose it indicates a lofty sense of independence 
to step out of the ranks and fight for a while, like a boom- 
erang, dangerous to everybody, friend and foe, and fighter 
included ; but I do not think it indicates wisdom, or a clear 
understanding of results, or is in accordance with the best 
ideas of progressive action, or shows a capacity to lead. 
Your own house may not always be the abode of peace 
and comfort and happiness, or domestic felicity, but it is 
poor business to get outside and stone the windows, 
for all that. If you cannot live in your house, why not 
quit it, and let some one else manage it, and say nothing 
about it ? " 

" Do you suppose it would harmonize mktters if every 
member of an associated and organized body knew that he 
would have his chance to lead .'' " asked Charles Ingalls. 

"I guess it would I" exclaimed Peter Ilsley, with another 
unfortunate slip, which ought to have settled him for the 
rest of the evening. 

"I have no doubt," said Mr. Hopkins, "this would do 



M.IKK'ET GARDENING. 353 

much to keep the peace. Man is ambitious, — more am- 
bitious oftentimes than sagacious and wise. Man's ambi- 
tion is often disappointed because he does not know enough 
to gratify it, — does not know how to conduct himself in 
such a way as to secure pubhc confidence, and this often 
when he has every quahfication, and is a model of good 
conduct, and might be a model of usefulness. Man often 
exhausts himself, too, in reaching after what he cannot get ; 
and I sometimes think he grows desperate in his efforts, 
because he really feels that his efforts will be in vain. But 
let it be understood that under a system of rapid rotation 
every man will have his chance, and my word for it the 
trouble would soon be over. There is an inherent love of 
power in man, even when he lives in a state of perfect 
social and civil equality ; and he will strive for it all the 
more when he knows that it is within his reach, and is not 
confined to a fortunate class or family. He will obey if he 
knows he is obliged to, but he wants to rule if he knows 
the chance is open to him." 

" Do you suppose anybody wants Mr. Hopkins's place in 
this Club .'' " asked William Jones. 

" I don't know about that," blundered out Peter Ilsley 
again, and then lost himself in hopeless confusion, while 
Mr. Hopkins looked steadily into the fire for a moment, 
with an unusual expression of anxiety and surprise casting 
a fleeting shadow over his calm and benevolent counte- 
nance. 

" Well," said Dr. Parker, " I think this promises to be a 
fruitful season." And everybody thanked him silently for 
changing the subject, even Peter Ilsley, who could not tell 
when he might be caught again. 

" Yes," said John Thomas ; " the fruit buds are strong 
and abundant, and my winter rye and fall-sowed grass 
never looked as well as they do now." 

" The land has settled fairly and rapidly," said Squire 
23 



354 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOT HAM. 

Wright. " My garden never started earlier than it has this 
season ; potatoes and peas starting already." 

" And may we have a peaceful, fruitful, and prosperous 
season," added Mr. Howe in a ministerial tone. And the 
group began to move. 

Mr. Hopkins stood at the door musing after they had all 
passed out ; and, wondering whether he was really in any- 
body's way, and whether the Club had roused any jeal- 
ousies, and whether it could be possible that his labors to 
improve the town were set down to ambition, and whether 
the community was ungrateful, he closed the door, and 
drew into his old home, with all its memories and associa- 
tions, and assurances of confidence and love. 



THE RECESS. 355 



THE RECESS. 

A HOT SUNDAY. — THE BOY GOES TO MEETING. — FANNY'S SUFFER- 
ING.— DR. PARKER CONSOLES HER. — THE WALK TO THE LAKE.— 
THE THUNDER-STORM. — THE FIRE. — JOHN THOMAS AND HUL- 
DAH, THE CHRISTIANS. 

And now the hush and hum and stiUness and sweetness 
of summer reigned among the hills and valleys of Jotham. 
Nature entered promptly upon her business. Darkness 
fled away ; and the sun, mounting higher and higher, 
sent its rays through the long summer days into all the 
seclusion which winter had shrouded with impenetrable 
gloom, until the dingy corners were filled with light and 
life. The frosty breath was withdrawn, and over every- 
thing moved gently and softly the life-giving air, which 
fans the earth into its new existence year by year. To 
this genial summons the response came as readily now as 
it had for ages ; and in all the secret places of the earth 
the forces of life moved mysteriously and irresistibly. 
The soil itself seemed vital. The living forces rushed 
through myriads of channels from the bosom of the earth, 
into the swelling leaf and flower, until the green and grow- 
ing garment was complete, and the floral crown sat with 
all its beauty upon the brow of Summer. Life was every- 
where. With a bound the cattle left their winter con- 
finement, took one wild circuit of the old familiar pasture, 
and settled at once into their new intimacy with nature. 
The air itself was vocal ; the songsters had returned as 
by magic. Insect life burst out, busy, noisy, happy. 
Even man himself resigned the cramped and shivering 
ways of winter, and strode forth to his toil with the very 



356 THE FARM -YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

lordliness of the land inspiring all his energy. Through 
the open doors and windows of his dwelling the soft air 
entered, the winter home was gone, the fireside van- 
ished, and the family circle now gathered on the old green 
around the threshold. The mode of life was changed ; 
the pleasures and the toils were all new ; the hard battles 
of life were softened ; the happy paths were happier ; 
to the new-born there was a glad reception ; even death 
itself seemed gentler. The week-days were made for toil, 
the Sundays were made for- rest. 

" Fanny," said Squire Wright, " the boy had better go 
to meeting to-day. He '11 crow a little I doubt not, but he 
will learn, now or never, to know the real difference be- 
tween a meeting-house and a dwelling-house, between 
Sunday and any other day in the seven." 

Fanny looked a little disturbed at this proposition from 
her father. She was very young still, and she felt quite 
uneasy under the thought that she might be exposed to 
a scene with her boy, who evidently had a will of his own. 
and might be obliged to exercise her maternal authority 
before the assembled congregation. Besides all this, since 
her return a young widow from the West, she had been 
known as Fanny at home and abroad, until the fact that 
she was Mrs. Ransom was almost forgotten. It must be 
acknowledged that this was not disagreeable to her, much 
as she respected and loved the memory of her departed 
ministerial husband ; and why should she be compelled 
to proclaim her widowhood — she, a bright and blooming 
young girl — to the whole community of Jotham, by a 
contest with her first-born amidst the solemnity of divine 
worship } But the Squire was inexorable, and to all his 
household his will had always been law. He had not 
much faith in human strength, and in man's power to 
support himself by the Divine spirit, through all the trials 
of life. He had not much faith in rehgious sentiment un- 



THE RECESS. 357 

inspired by the presence of material symbols. He hardly 
believed that man was wicked, but he felt confident that 
he was weak ; and he felt keenly the importance of ha- 
bituating him, in the very morning of life, to those scenes 
and customs which belong to the religious organization 
of the world. He was not a bigot, nor was he indifferent 
to the value of a well-grounded faith. He seemed to have 
a most exalted idea of the impression produced upon the 
mind by association and mere external influences. He 
•often said that the lofty gaze of the mountaineer and the 
peering glance of the sailor were admirable illustrations 
of the controlling force of circumstances upon man's physi- 
cal expression ; and he felt confident that in the same way 
permanent impressions might be produced upon the mind 
and heart. When he urged upon Fanny the importance 
•of graceful and vigorous phrase in her talk with the boy, 
he did it because he knew well how quick young ears are 
to catch passing utterances, and how ready young lips are 
to repeat them. When he advised her to familiarize him 
with cheerful and attractive books, and to make these 
books his most acceptable companions, instead of the 
instruments used in the daily drudgery of the school, he 
knew that this taste once acquired was never lost. And 
it was easy to see that in all his intercourse with his 
family he carefully preserved all that courtesy which had 
given him large influence in the community, for the 
especial benefit of the young who belonged to his domestic 
circle. He seldom moralized, seldom made tedious ap- 
peals or gave commonplace warnings to the disobedient, 
•never dealt in cant ; but his manner told at once the pro- 
found contempt he had for waywardness and sin. If he 
had been asked what he thought would be the consequen- 
ces of crime and misdemeanor, in this world and the next, 
he would probably have found it difficult to give an answer ; 
if he had been called on to define his faith, he could not have 



358 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

done it ; if he had been requested to give the text of the- 
sermon he had just listened to, he would have failed to- 
answer ; nor could he have told definitely even the subject 
itself But he said a sermon always did him good ; so 
did the prayer ; so did the singing of the choir. He always 
treated the minister with deference, was charitable towards 
his defects, and enlarged upon his merits ; never treated him 
as a dependant, but always saw that his wants were sup- 
plied ; and gave him a foremost place in his family circle 
and a cordial attention at the fireside talk. He respected 
him because he was a minister, and felt that it was his 
duty to encourage him in that difficult task which the 
pastor of a people imposes upon himself when he under- 
takes to accommodate himself to all their tastes, and to 
remove their fears, and to relieve their sorrows and share 
their joys, and to subordinate all his feelings and charac- 
teristics to theirs, in a service which sharpens his sensi- 
bilities and tends to aggravate his peculiarities. He was 
a faithful and useful parishioner. Of his religion he never 
boasted. He had made up his mind that in his weakness 
and his strength, in his wants and necessities, in his tastes 
and views, in his sentiments and associations and feelings 
and prejudices, he represented the average of well-behaved 
humanity ; and as he supported himself in this mental and 
moral condition by a proper observance of all decent cus- 
toms, and by a constant recognition of social propriety, he 
was earnest in his desire that "the Boy" should start well 
in life, and carry with him precepts and memories which 
would make all good ordinances as dear to him as the face 
of his mother, and of the grandparents who idolized him 
as if he were a child of their own. 

And so the boy was taken to meeting for the first time. 
It was just past midsummer, and the heat of the morning 
was intense. Mr. Howe was as wise as ever in his ser- 
mon ; the choir sang with its usual fervor ; and the sum- 



THE RECESS. 359 

mer breeze which was wafted through the open windows 
fanned as orderly a congregation as ever gathered in an 
old-fashioned Puritan meeting-house. But neither the wis- 
dom of Mr. Howe, nor the power of the multitudinous 
choir, nor the solemnity of the congregation could sus- 
tain itself under the riotous conduct of the boy. He was 
simply intolerable. Even the Squire grew uneasy under 
his various demonstrations, and repented that he had 
insisted on introducing his grandson to public life in such 
hot and fretful weather. 

" He is a hard one to break," whispered William Jones 
from the adjoining pew, and the Squire agreed with him. 
But the battle was to be fought, and everybody behaved 
as well as everybody could while the contest lasted. Poor 
Fanny was wretched. She felt that the position she had 
held as a superior and controlling power in society was 
gone. The boy had taught the people that she had one 
master at least, and she returned to her home, at the close of 
the services, so subdued and chagrined that she seemed to 
have entered upon a new life. The disobedient little boy 
clung to her amidst the surrounding indignation, with an 
air of grief and defiance commingled, and gave her a new 
idea of the tender relations which grow up between a 
mother and a son, in which the maternal rule is broken 
by maternal tenderness, and the filial obedience is some- 
times disturbed by the filial manhood. But there was 
nothing to be said ; and gradually the boy returned to his 
accustomed ways, with a little shyness added, perhaps ; 
and Fanny tried to become a girl again ; and the Squire 
and Mrs. Wright read their Bibles with more than com- 
mon devotion. 

The Sunday afternoon passed away ; Mr. Howe preached 
the second sermon of the day, as all ministers of his time 
did ; the Squire and Mrs. Wright were among the hearers ; 
Fanny had been allowed to remain at home after the 



360 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

exhausting exercises of the morning; the meeting-house 
doors were closed, and the declining hours of a hot mid- 
summer Sabbath were as still as the sultry eventide of the 
tropics. The sun in its going down had met, long before 
it reached the horizon, a heavy bank of clouds, and had 
tipped the moving and shifting edge with a golden radiance, 
which seemed to add an unusual glow to the heat of the 
evening. The widespread valley which stretched away 
from the Squire's threshold was basking mistily in the 
liquid heat. And it was with unbounded gratitude that 
the exhausted villagers welcomed the first puff of a west- 
erly breeze which came up to cool the approaching night. 
Fanny was sitting alone at the open front door, pondering 
upon the trials of the day, and listening now and then for 
an expected call from the little sleeping personage who 
had caused all the trouble, when Dr. Parker appeared on 
his customary Sunday evening call. 

" Well, Fanny, it has been a hard day, has n't it .'' " said 
Dr. Parker as he seated himself on the threshold at Fanny's 
feet, and tossed his hat away, as if impatient that anything 
should interpose itself between the evening air and his 
heated brow. 

" Yes," said Fanny, " it has been very hot, and I have 
had a hard trial of my patience. But then it is the boy, 
you know ; and he will so constantly remind me that I 
am a girl no longer. And then to tell it to the whole 
congregation ! But why should n't he .-' " 

" O," said the Doctor, " never mind that. The boy is 
well enough ; but you must not allow him to quench the 
impulses of youth. He can pass for a companion or a 
brother." 

Fanny sighed, and thought how little, after all, this wise 
and learned Doctor knew. She stepped out into the 
approaching twilight, and, joined by Dr. Parker, strolled 
down the grassy and shaded lane which led to the lake. 



THE RECESS. 36 1 

The air which now came up the little valley was delicious, 
tempered as it was by the coolness which it caught up as 
it passed over the bosom of the waters. Fanny, subdued 
and chastened by the little experience of the day, had lost 
the sharpness of her wit, and, almost for the first time in 
her life, felt like leaning upon a kind and strong arm for 
support. She had borne domestic sorrow with great forti- 
tude and courage, and had nerved herself up to the capacity 
of carrying her friends bravely on through the agony of 
impending calamity. But it was a mutual sorrow which 
she bore and shared so well ; and it was a calamity which 
threatened to fall as heavily on her father and mother as 
on herself. Now she had commenced upon a work which 
she alone could conduct. That an hour of childish mis- 
chief in a meeting-house should have so sunk into the soul 
of this young woman was almost inexplicable ; to herself 
it was unaccountable. But there was a revelation about 
it which weighed upon her mind and heart, and brought 
her to a solemn consciousness of the relation which existed 
between herself and her boy, and between the two and the 
world. She had learned in public, and had declared there, 
that she was the guide and controller of young forces 
which, if successful in the world, must exercise strong and 
well-regulated faculties, and that in her hands rested the 
guidance of a being who was born for good or for evil, 
perhaps in accordance with the skill and wisdom with 
which she directed his early footsteps. Dr. Parker was 
struck with her gentleness and thoughtfulness. Since the 
day that she convinced him with her sharp shrewd common- 
sense that Clara Bell had no love for him, and had tossed 
him from herself with the ease of a magician throwing his 
bubbles into the air, he had never dared to approach the 
region of sentiment in her presence, and he had never 
conceived for a moment that she entertained for him any 
stronger feeling than a common regard. From that time, 



362 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

now many months ago, he had exercised an unwonted 
self-control, and had unconsciously laid aside a large share 
of his self-conceit and his indifference to the opinions of 
those about him. The discovery that Clara Bell's feeling 
toward him was fear and not love, and the audacity which 
Fanny displayed in bantering him out of his weak delusion, 
had done him great good. What the advice of wise men 
and the example of good men and the taunts of bad men 
could not cure, the natural treatment of two young women 
had removed, for a time at least. And as his recklessness 
vanished his sensibiHty returned, and insomuch as he felt 
worthy of confidence and esteem, he desired to obtain it. 
It was in this mood that he and Fanny walked on. But for 
their experiences in life, they would have loved each other 
as lovers do. What the feeling was which brought them 
nearer and nearer to each other they could hardly tell ; 
but they seemed to have stepped out of the ordinary walks 
of life into a calm and quiet atmosphere where they could 
at least escape all meanness and annoyance. It was not as 
in the brightness of sunlight that they walked, but as in the 
mild and silvery refulgence of the full-orbed moon. They 
strolled on in silence. Fanny leaned on the Doctor's arm. 
They wandered down to the shore of the lake and sat upon 
the grassy bank, listening to the ripples which came dancing 
up the beach to die there. They heard the lashing note 
of the whippoorwill in the dark hemlock grove across the 
waters. They heard, too, the beating of the distant oar, 
and the ringing laughter of the rowers. The soft hum of 
summer evening was all around them. The memories of 
the past came rushing into their minds, and compelled 
them to silence. The tale which trembled on the Doctor's 
lips he had once told with a mumbling frenzy, and the 
shame of that hour made a coward of him, and lay like a 
mountain in his path now that his brighter and better day 
had come. The mild and passionless journey of life upon 



THE RECESS. 



36: 



which Fanny had entered with the young minister was 
by no means forgotten by her ; and now she found that 
in spite of herself his subduing influence was around her 







FANNY AND THE DOCTOR BY THE LAKE. 

still. And so they sat there in silence, listening to the 
confused and drowsy music about them. The hours were 
sweet enough, but there were no words to tell the tale, 
there was no power with both combined to throw off the 
influences of the past. They left the shore of the lake. 



364 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

and wandered back arm in arm towards the house. As 
the darkness gathered thicker and thicker about them, 
they felt that Nature in her sympathy had provided for 
them a deep and sacred retirement in which, unseen even 
by each other, they might make their sacred declaration. 
But even the darkness was not enough for them, and they 
stood at the very threshold of Fanny's home, unconscious 
that their journey was quite ended, and without having 
uttered a word in their strange, mysterious walk. 

" O, how are they to be envied," said the Doctor, as 
they stepped into the dimly lighted parlor, " whose lives 
were fortunate in the beginning. The drifting clouds of 
noonday soon vanish and leave not even a shadow behind. 
But a cloudy morning foretells a fitful day, at least, if not 
a heavy one. The mists that shroud the sun at its rising 
seldom roll entirely away. If the young would only learn 
this from those of us who have passed through the trials 
and chances of early life, how many would escape the 
dangers by which they are surrounded." 

Fanny thought of the boy, and prayed that he might 
look back upon a wisely directed childhood and a fortunate 
youth. She knew too well, however, the thoughts which 
were passing through the Doctor's mind ; and she felt 
somewhat disposed to give expression to her natural pride 
by suggesting that for herself she had nothing to regret or 
repent of, and that however applicable his reflections were 
to himself they belonged not to her. But fortunately for 
her, and for them both, the opportunity to make this chill- 
ing statement was suddenly lost, and it never returned. 
In their silent and thoughtful and palpitating walk they 
had been so absorbed that they were entirely unmindful of 
the fact that the heavens had become overcast with thick 
and heavy masses of clouds, and that already the dim 
flashes and distant mutterings told of an approaching 
storm. The bank into which the sun had sunk had risen 



THE RECESS. 365 

and taken possession of the heavens. And before Fanny 
had found time to reply to the reflections of the Doctor, a 
vivid and blinding flash of lightning, followed instantly by 
a deafening peal of thunder, was the signal of a wild and 
terrifying storm which burst upon the lands and homes of 
Jotham. Fanny shuddered, drew closer to the Doctor, 
forgot at once her mischievous design, and sat with him on 
the sofa in the rear of the room, away from danger, as she 
hoped. Mr. and Mrs. Wright were heard moving about 
and closing their windows. The boy slept peacefully. 
The storm seemed to fill the whole heavens and to threaten 
the very foundations of the earth. The lightning was in- 
cessant, not distant and lurid, but sharp, near, a visible 
pathway of flame, keen and swift and flashing ; it seemed 
to rush from window to window on a flaming track ; it did 
leap from cloud to cloud in great masses of fire. The 
thunder never ceased. Before one roar had begun to die 
away, another, heavy, sullen, crashing, burst upon the ear 
with new fury and new terror. It was a storm which was 
never forgotten by those who witnessed it. Hour after 
hour it went on in its might and majesty. People trem- 
bled in their beds beneath its rolling, roaring, blinding 
fury, and there sat Fanny and Dr. Parker, hand in hand, 
and silent still, waiting for the terrific conflict to cease. 
The long-continued cannonade paused for an instant, to be 
followed by a blazing, blinding flash, and the hissing and 
screeching explosion which announces that the lightning 
is engaged in its work of destruction, — and all was still. 
The rain began to cease. The wind lulled. The two 
lovers, for they had reached that point at last, left the sofa 
and approached a window to look forth into the subsiding 
storm. As they stood there watching the dim and distant 
flashes, and listening to the far-off muttering of the depart- 
ing storm, they saw gleaming through the dripping branches 
of the trees a steady and increasing light shining from the 



366 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

-western side of the town. Dr. Parker saw in a moment 
that the final flash had done its work, and that the most 
awful calamity that can befall. a country village had come 
upon their neighbors in some one of the farm-houses of that 
neighborhood. A dwelling-house was evidently in flames, 
and the work of destruction was rapidly going on un- 
checked. 

Dr. Parker started forth at once to alarm the people and 
to join in their attempts to subdue the conflagration, or to 
save what they could from destruction, leaving Fanny to 
rouse her father and urge him to follow. The rain was 
over, and the great, broken masses of clouds were rolling 
avvay, now concealing and now disclosing the moon, which 
was wading through them on her nightly path. The satu- 
rated earth and the drenched trees had a mournful look as 
the Doctor rushed on, calling out all whose houses he 
passed on his way to the fire, and succeeding in rallying 
and joining an excited crowd of villagers who were bewil- 
dered by the unusual scene before them. The old church- 
bell now joined in sounding the alarm, the first time since 
it had hung in that ancient belfry. Guided by the light 
which began to dart up to the heavens amidst great 
volumes of smoke, the hurrying multitude soon discovered 
that the farm-buildings of Peter Ilsley were enveloped in 
flames, the lightning having apparently blown its fiery 
breath through house and barn and shed at once, and laid 
everything there beneath its destructive force. Through 
roof and window the flames were bursting when the vil- 
lagers arrived. Within and about the house not a soul 
was to be seen. The few cows, which had evidently been 
lying in the barn-yard, had broken through the gateway in 
terror, and were standing in mid-field, gazing upon the 
scene with eyes in which the glow of the fire was vividly 
reflected. The people were helpless and dumb. They 
had no means of subduing the devouring element ; they 



THE RECESS. 367 

had no courage to rush to the rescue even were that pos- 
sible. As they stood there terror-stricken and paralyzed, 
the Squire bemoaning the sudden and serious loss of 
property, Mr. Howe distressed at the thought that a 
human being might possibly be perishing there. Dr. Parker 
stunned by the weight of the calamity before him, John 
Thomas lamenting silently that his strength and determi- 
nation were of no avail, there suddenly appeared at an 
open lower window of the house a little child crying for 
help. 

The fire had not yet reached that corner, although the 
child's form was enveloped in the thick volume of smoke, 
which was pouring through the window where she stood. 
In an instant the vigorous men rushed to her rescue and 
brought the little thing out of danger, half Winded and be- 
wildered, and crying and sobbing and begging that they 
would save her father too. "The entry! The entry!" 
she cried in her agony ; and it was evident that in the mass 
of smoke and flame which now rolled along this passage- 
way Peter Ilsley would be found exhausted, insensible, 
perishing. But who was the man to brave that danger, 
or to lead in a charge for which not a soul there was pre- 
pared } At this moment John Thomas, roused now to a 
sense of duty and of indignation at the powerlessness of 
the multitude, called on those about him to follow, and 
rushed to the front door of the house. In a moment he 
had beaten down the panel and frame, and had found his 
way into the burning hall. His companions attempted 
to follow him, feeling that their chief duty would be to 
save him from swift destruction. But almost before they 
had reached the threshold, John Thomas appeared, scorched 
and blackened and half blinded, dragging the burned and 
senseless form of Peter Ilsley just out upon the open 
green, and falling there by the side of him whom he had 
rescued. A groan of terror and admiration burst from the 



368 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

crowd around. The two prostrate men were instantly 
borne out beyond the scorching influence of the flames, — 
Peter Ilsley a mangled and disfigured form, barely retain- 
ing the breath of life, and John Thomas badly burned, 
but regaining at once his consciousness, and calling on 
his companions to save also those who still remained in 
the house, — the wife and children, and the hired men of 
the farm, all of whom were perishing in the flames. But 
this was all in vain. Nothing more was to be saved from 
that destruction, neither man nor animal, — only a little 
sobbing, half-crazed child and a disfigured and dying 
father. And even while the people gazed there and con- 
sulted together what they should do with the sufi^erers, the 
blazing buildings fell with a crash and the great flames 
rolled triumphantly up to heaven. It was all over. Of 
that house nothing was now left but the burning timbers, 
beneath which lay the ashes of those who but just now 
had been full of life and happiness ; and the multitude 
shuddered and turned away, while a suppressed sob of hor- 
ror broke from the crowd of women who stood afar off and 
witnessed the dreadful scene. 

But the old man and the child ; what was to be done 
for them .'' No one seemed disposed to assume the care 
and trouble of providing for them in his own household, 
and it was suggested that they be carried at once to the 
almshouse, where every comfort could be provided for 
them, and where Peter Ilsley had a sort of right, from his 
official position in town. The little girl, Margaret, stood 
there sobbing as if her heart would break, and calling 
in piteous tones upon her father for help and recogni- 
tion. Unused as they were to such touching scenes, the 
people standing by seemed to be stunned rather than 
roused to a sense of their obligation. To Dr. Parker the 
public institutions of the town seemed to be the most 
natural resort for the sufferers. Mr. Howe could do noth- 



THE RECESS. 369 

ing, and hardly dared to make a suggestion. Mr. Hop- 
kins knew no other course to pursue, his house being 
rather a house than a home. At this moment two or 
three of the women approached, apparently anxious to 
learn the extent of the disaster, and perhaps suspecting 
that there might be work lor them to do. Among them 
was Mrs. Thomas, who now learned for the first time the 
danger to which her husband had exposed himself, the 
narrow escape he had had, and the distressing fate which 
had fallen upon the family of Peter Ilsley. John sat there 
on a rude seat provided for him, evidently suffering se- 
verely, and so disfigured by the fire as to be scarcely rec- 
ognizable. He had hardly taken in the entire situation 
himself, and it was not until he saw Huldah and heard 
her voice that he began to realize what he had done, or to 
understand what he was to do in the future. 

"Thank God, John, you are safe," said Huldah, with her 
sedate monotone unbroken, even while her heart was swell- 
ing with emotion. 

John looked up as she took his hand, and said calmly 
in his good, manly tones, " Thank God, Huldah, you are 
here. But what is it, and what is to be done } " 

"You are hurt, John," said she, "and must be taken 
home at once. Peter Ilsley is here, dying, and must be 
cared for. His little Margaret is here, too, alone in the 
world, and must be comforted. We have a great house, 
John, and you will soon be well, and Peter ought not to 
go to the poorhouse, and the little girl, — who knows but 
she may be a comfort to us by and by .'' John and Susan 
are wellnigh grown up." 

John Thomas turned toward his wife with amazement. 
The anxious weeks and months he had passed on account 
of Peter Ilsley's injustice, the blow this man had struck at 
his good name, rushed at once into his mind, and he 
paused for a moment, gathered together his wandering 
24 



370 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

faculties, and simply answered, " Huldah, you always were 
an angel ! " 

At the suggestion of Mrs. Thomas, John was sent home 
as quickly as possible ; the poor mutilated form of Peter 
Ilsley was placed in a comfortable wagon and borne to her 
house, while she herself, consoling little Margaret, took 
her by the hand and led her by the side of her father to 
that home in which his last moments were to be made as 
comfortable as possible, and where she was to pass a por- 
tion of her life and grow into the affections of those who 
were for a time to fill the places of the departed. The 
villagers looked on in astonishment. Mr. Howe thought 
how often he had preached about the good Samaritan, 
and how seldom he had practised it. Mr. Hopkins felt as 
if a new revelation had dawned upon him ; and he resolved 
that that child should not want, so long as his own sub- 
stance might last. Dr. Parker, apparently lost in thought, 
and evidently wrung by a deep and silent grief, fixed his 
eyes on the sobbing child and followed her passively to 
her new abode. It was a curious and mournful and touch- 
ing procession which passed out from the group that 
lingered behind to watch the last dying embers of that 
destroyed home. And as the morning dawned, the early 
light streamed into the comfortable room which Huldah 
had provided for the dying man, and illumined her own 
apartment, in one corner of which the little deserted and 
lonely child lay sleeping and exhausted, while John was 
resting opposite on his own bed, arranged by her skilful 
and affectionate hand. 

Peter Ilsley died and was buried, — unconscious of his 
trials and ignorant of his benefactors. Margaret wan- 
dered up and down, calling for her father and mother and 
brothers, and her sister and companion, and wondering 
why none of them came to her, until the kindness of 
Mrs. Thomas had penetrated her whole existence, and 



THE RECESS. 3/1 

Susan had become to her an older sister and a wiser 
companion. John soon recovered, and returned to his 
work, bearing through life the scars and the memory 
of that awful night. He learned to love the little child, 
and he never ceased to be grateful to Huldah for having 
lifted him above the ungenerous impulse which was mak- 
ing its way into his heart, when he first realized that his 
persecutor appealed to his kindness and charity. 

Charles Ingalls thought it would take many sermons 
to teach what John Thomas had taught by this one act 
of his life ; and Clara Bell prayed that she might be as 
good a woman as Huldah. 

The affairs of Jotham went on as usual. The summer 
passed away and the harvest-time came on. The annual 
excursion to the sea-shore was omitted. The rains fell 
upon the ashes of Peter Ilsley's house, from which a few 
charred bones had been raked and buried with him ; the 
winds passed over them, and when autumn came Nature 
had already begun to obliterate the marks of her own 
destructive work. 

The recess ended, and the time came round when the 
meetings of the Club were to be resumed and the investi- 
gations were to be continued. 



372 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 



TWENTY-FOURTH MEETING. 

MARKET GARDENING (Continued). 

MR. HOWE LIKES A TOWN AND A CLUB. -MR. HOPKINS BEGINS TO 
GROW OLD. — THE CLUB GLAD TO MEET AGAIN. 

It was earlier in the winter than usual that the Club was 
called together to begin the intellectual campaign of the 
season. Indeed, the autumn had hardly passed away be- 
fore the lengthening evenings had created a desire on the 
part of the members to enjoy the hospitality of Mr. Hop- 
kins once more. The sudden and startling blow which 
had fallen upon the town during the summer had brought 
the community into a more intimate relation, and had 
cemented those who had once looked with indifference 
upon each other in the sunshine of prosperity. They were 
inclined to be more charitable and genial than they were 
before almost an entire family had been swept away from 
their midst, and it was evident that the chastening had 
quickened their better faculties, and had infused a kindly 
spirit into their hearts. The town had a clubable tendency 
always, as Mr. Hopkins found when he first called his 
neighbors together. But as the life of the town increased 
in interest, and its events multiplied, its sociability in- 
creased also. The apathy of an uneventful community 
passed away. The return of Mr. Hopkins, the emigration 
and return of Squire Wright, the formation of the Club, 
the experience of Dr. Parker, the energy of the School- 
master, the tragical death of Peter Tlsley, all tended to 
create a mutual interest which could only be satisfied by 
association. The injunction pressed upon the mind of Dr. 



MARKET GARDENING. 373 

Parker when he became a member of the Hasty Pudding 
Club in college, and was told in hollow and heavy tones by 
the presiding ofificer, " Sociability, sir, is a source of the 
most delightful pleasures," grew more and more valuable 
and real to him as the incidents of life around him in- 
creased in importance. The closer his hold became on 
society, the more he desired to see of it. He knew per- 
fectly well that he had fallen away into periodical dissipa- 
tion because he had isolated himself, and had forgotten 
that he was a member of the human family. He began to 
realize that a community without clubs is no community 
at all. Even Mr. Howe, who had depended largely for his 
associated influence and enjoyment, through the early part 
of his ministry, on evening meetings and sewing-circles, 
realized the value of a broader organization, as the Club 
made itself felt, and held out more and more its support 
and entertainment to those who had joined it. 

" For the first time in my life I am glad to see winter 
approaching," said Mr. Howe to Dr. Parker, as they met 
accidentally on their way to the first meeting. " I hope to 
forget the hardships of the summer." 

Dr. Parker said nothing" in reply, but silently recalled 
the summer and autumn months, and wondered what Mr. 
Howe meant. He remembered the "hot Sunday," and 
the thunder-storm, and the fire, and the destruction of 
human life ; but, then, he also remembered the walk to 
the pond, and the sweet revelations which followed, and 
the gradual growth of his attachment to Fanny, and her 
affectionate response ; and the summer did not seem to 
him overladen with hardships. And he did not easily 
comprehend the view which Mr. Howe was taking of what 
had been to him anything but a gloomy season. 

"I am just in that state of mind," added Mr. Howe, 
^'w^hich enables me to appreciate the companionship of my 
fellow-men where 'face answereth unto face.' Just now, I 



374 THE FARM- YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

find the light of the countenance sweeter than the light of 
the sun." 

" Ah ! now I understand," said the Doctor ; " you like, 
then, a town the whole of which can be included in a 
club." 

"Yes," said Mr. Howe, "I think I do. The older I grow 
the more I value human sympathy. If I sprain my ankle 
or lose my dog, I like to be asked about it ; I like to feel 
that everybody has heard of my misfortune, and hopes I 
shall soon be restored or find the dog. I know there is a 
good deal of gossip belonging to this kind of life ; but to 
my mind, personal gossip is based on personal interest. It 
is man's prerogative to discuss his fellow-man ; if he does 
it fairly and generously, it does him good ; if he does not 
do it at all, he grows as hard as an iceberg, and as cold. 
What a gossip Charles Lamb was ; and Boswell, and Scott, 
and Horace Walpole ; what rich personal talk they had 
about their friends and acquaintances ! I should be in 
utter despair if I thought I was never discussed here in 
Jotham. A town where you know everybody and every- 
body knows you, or a town so huge that you can make 
your own community in the midst of it, and fill that and 
be thoroughly known by it, — one or the other of these 
I consider the only fit place to live in." 

" Now," said the Doctor, " I don't know about this. I 
am afraid the interest which manifests itself in gossip and 
in anxiety about your ankle and your dog, is a pretty fleet- 
ing affair, after all. I think the bond must be stronger and 
more vital if it is going to amount to much. We expect the 
members of a family to be interested in each other in 
accordance with the most natural impulse and instinct ; 
and we admire this for what it is worth. But who ever heard 
of the immortal friendship of a dozen men } We have 
never yet got beyond two at a time. David and Jonathan, 
and Damon and Pythias, are the only two distinguished 



MARKET GARDENING. 375 

pairs that I can remember. And I know not how it is, 
but I have seldom found a wide-extending sympathy, ex- 
cept under fortunate circumstances. Great prosperity cer- 
tainly creates more jealousy than sympathy. Great powers 
stimulate more ambition than affectioii. Great adversity 
begets selfishness. Great opportunities establish all sorts 
of rivalry. I have found that college classmates wondered 
how the fellows got along so well, much oftener than they 
rejoiced over their successes. I have heard a hundred 
men express pride that they were in the same class with 
some distinguished scholar or statesman, where I have 
heard one rejoice warmly over the eminence which his 
early companions had reached. I agree that it is a good 
plan to have ' tears for others' woes,' but I suspect it is 
more important to have ' patience for my own.' I suppose, 
however, there is a middle ground somewhere, in which 
may be found ' neither poverty nor riches,' and in which the 
sympathetic feelings are kept alive. But, after all, I think 
man is rather inclined to go alone, — or, perhaps, properly 
mated." And this last suggestion was dropped in as the 
Doctor thought of Fanny. 

" Not so," said Mr. Howe. " Man is just as gregarious 
as all the rest of the animals. He may be full of petty 
passions, — I am sorry to say I think he is ; and I am also 
sorry to be compelled to believe that he feels authorized to 
ride rough-shod over his rivals and adversaries, and that 
he is often governed by the most contemptible motives. 
But still I think he is fond of society, fond of sympathy, 
fond of friendship ; would rather believe all men to be 
saints and heroes than knaves and cowards ; and on the 
whole has a pretty healthy and generous feeling about his 
fellow-mortals, unless somebody has diligently poisoned 
him." 

" I know men get together," said the Doctor, " always 
have got together, and probably always will ; and the more 



3/6 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAAL 

they know the better they will like it. I have always wished 
I could have looked in on the Kit Cat Club, and the Beef- 
steak Club ; but I don't believe there was much affection 
in this, after all. It was a kind of intellectual rmg, — but 
then it must have been delightful. And then a courteous 
interest must grow out of such associations if nothing else, 
and that is worth a good deal in such a rough world as this. 
But I have seldom found that in the height of prosperity 
or in the depths of adversity men paused long to ' rejoice 
with those who do rejoice, or weep with those who weep.' 
Anxious and struggling society I look on as a pretty 
cool place, after all, — a good deal of an ice-house. I am 
told, for instance, that such a thing as political friendship 
was never heard of" 

" I don't know how that is," said Mr. Howe ; " and 
I never desire to. I shall never forget the way in which 
poor Ilsley came back on his friend, Thomas ; and I, too, 
am told that the desertion of professed friends is the dark 
side of political association. All that, I suppose, is a part 
of the scramble ; and well enough, too, perhaps, inasmuch 
as a man in public life should be compelled to sustain him- 
self on principles and convictions, and not on personal 
attachment or a mere personal following. And I have no 
doubt the same frigid necessity which guides and governs 
such a man guides and governs all men who are engaged 
in the hard service of life. Perhaps it is sad that it is so. 
But I more than half suspect that the attachments of both 
business and politics are sweet enough to more than 
counterbalance the wounds inflicted by deserters and 
time-servers and camp-followers and waiters on Provi- 
dence. 

"I think all this makes it necessary for a man to learn 
where to draw the line of his friendships. Still, I do be- 
lieve in the real value of companionship. I like a little town, 
after all. I like a club, I have never forsrotten one sentence 



MARKET GARDENING. Z77 

of an old -English writer, which I read when I was in 
college : — 

" ' When men are knit together by a love of society and 
not a spirit of faction, and do not meet to censure or annoy 
those that are absent, but to enjoy one another ; when 
they are thus combined for their own improvement, or for 
the good of others, or at least to relax themselves from the 
business of the day by an innocent and cheerful conver- 
sation, there may be something very useful in these little 
institutions and establishments.' " 

" Yes," said the Doctor, " and they can go beyond this, 
if they desire, into an intellectual companionship, half 
thought and half gossip, which might be as refreshing as 
the Noctes Anibrosiance, or the Leges Conviviales of Ben 
Jonson. But what do you suppose is the reason that 
women never have clubs ? " 

" For the same reason that they don't combine for their 
rights, I suppose," said Mr. Howe ; " and I suppose it is 
fortunate for us that they do not." 

"I am glad they don't," said Dr. Parker, as he thought 
of Fanny combining with anybody but himself 

By this time the two gentlemen had reached the house 
of Mr. Hopkins, and they entered to find most of the 
members of the Club already assembled. It is difficult to 
realize the fact that the leading citizens of a small town 
like Jotham should only have met casually during the 
recess of the Club, but so it was. They had encountered 
each other at the fire ; they had sat together as part of a 
congregation in the meeting-house ; they had saluted each 
other on the road ; they had transacted business with 
each other whenever it had been necessar}' ; but they had 
not come together as companions and friends. And they 
met now as young men meet who have reassembled after 
a college vacation, and wonder why it is that they feel 
such a momentary interest in each other's welfare. Per- 



3/8 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 



e 



haps an indifferent observer would have noticed but littl 
change in the appearance of the assembly during the 
period of its separation. But Charles Ingalls saw that Mr. 
Hopkins had grown older, — age had evidently touched 
him ; and he saw also that John Thomas had taken on a 
kinder look, and that Squire Wright was on very confi- 
dential terms with Dr. Parker, and that Mr. Howe was 
unusually cordial to himself There was a good deal 
of demonstrative handshaking, and friendly inquiry, and 
warm congratulation, and mutual admiration, and pleasant 
compliment to the host and his wood-fire and his cheer- 
ful room, before the little rap was given which brought the 
Club to order. 

Mr. Hopkins announced that the subject selected for 
discussion was 



MARKET GARDENING, 
and he proceeded to speak upon it as follows : — 

You will remember, Gentlemen, that our last meeting was 
occupied by a discussion upon the potato, as a crop standing 
half-way between a' field crop and a market-garden crop, and 
partaking of the nature of both. We now propose to examine 
the various plants which enter most essentially into the business 
of gardening, and which require careful and accurate cultivation 
in order to be produced with any degree of profit. To my mind, 
this is not only the most remunerative, but the most agreeable 
branch of farming. The first steps in its operations being taken 
long before the sun has reached the vernal equinox, it seems to 
remind us of the approaching mildness which is to take the 
place of the hard and cheerless days of winter. I never see the 
preparations for my hotbeds going on without feeling a pleasing 
assurance that winter is really passing away, and that the toil of 
summer has begun ; and you all know that to thorough and 
profitable market gardening a cold-frame or hotbed belongs. 
By the last of February this work should begin. If the frame, 



MARKET GARDENING. 379 

which may be economically made of rough planks set edgewise 
into a pit or trench about four feet wide and two feet deep, and 
carried above the edge of the trench about eighteen inches, has 
been open during the winter, place the sashes into the frames 
for a few days for the purpose of thawing the earth beneath. 
I'his having been done, remove the heating manure of last year, 
and fill the trench with horse-manure and leaves well heated in 
a compost-heap at the time of using. Pack the manure as 
firmly as possible in the trench, and cover it with six or seven 
inches of fine rich loam. Put on your sashes, and in a sunny 
day or two the bed will be in condition to receive the seed. 
The beds should face to the south, and should be protected in 
the rear by a light board fence. Straw mats made in frames 
which can be raised and lowered on hinges should be used to 
cover the sash, in order to protect the bed from the chill of 
night and cold days, and from the too great heat of the sun, as 
the season advances. A bed like this every farmer should have 
who intends to supply the market with early vegetables ; and as 
a matter of taste and pleasure I will defy any man to show me 
a warmer and more cheerful spot on an early spring d^y than 
the sunny side of a hotbed, with the timid and unseasonable 
vegetation just starting under its encouraging influences. 

These beds may be used merely to start the plants for early 
transplanting, or, skilfully managed, they may be occupied with 
a permanent crop which is to be brought to early maturity. 
Large quantities of lettuce and cucumbers are raised in this 
way, and are brought to a full growth long before it would be 
safe to remove them from the protection of the glass. But if not 
devoted to such permanent cultivation as this, they may be em- 
ployed to furnish early plants of lettuce, tomatoes, cabbages, 
egg-plants, celery, cauliflower, etc., which require this prelimi- 
nary aid in order to be grown in good season. 

The hotbed, then, is a most useful structure to be employed 
in this branch of farming, and next to it in point of usefulness 
stands the manure-heap. Profitable crops for the market can- 
not be raised without an abundance of manure ; and in prepar- 
ing the compost-heap for this purpose every variety of fertilizing 



38o THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

material should be used which the various crops may demand, — 
for the Brassicaceous plants, such as the cabbage, cauliflower, 
kohlrabi, and brocoli, nitrogeneous manures ; for leguminous 
plants, such as peas and beans, a liberal supply of well-rotted 
phosphatic manures. In order to illustrate the importance of 
manure and enough of it in this work, I will read what Hender- 
son so well says on this point. He says : " It is a grave blunder 
to attempt to grow vegetable crops without the use of manures 
of the various kinds in about the proportions I have named. 




A HOTRED. 



I never yet saw soil of any kind that had borne a crop of vege- 
tables that would produce a good crop the next year without the 
use of manure, no matter how rich the soil may be thought to 
be. An illustration of this came under my observation last sea- 
son : one of my neighbors, a market-gardener of twenty years' 
experience, and whose grounds have always been a model of 
productiveness, had it in prospect to run a sixty-feet street 



M.U^k'h T GA IWEN/NG. 3 8 1 

through his grounds. Thinking his land sufficiently rich to cany 
through a crop of cabbages without manure, he thought it use- 
less to waste money by using guano on that portion where the 
street was to run, but on each side sowed guano at the rate of 
twelve hundred pounds per acre, and planted the wholes with 
early cabbages. The effect was the most marked I ever saw, — 
that portion upon which guano had been used selling off readily 
at twelve dollars per hundred, or about fourteen hundred dollars 
per acre, the other hardly averaged three dollars per hun- 
dred. The street occupied fully an acre of ground, so that 
my friend actually lost over $ looo in crop by withholding $60 
for manure." 

Hotbeds, manure, industry, and skill are what the market- 
gardener needs, — always including propitious weather and a 
favorable market. Of the various crops which are most profita- 
bly raised I would leave each farmer to judge for himself ; for I 
have always found that every good cultivator seems to have 
some one crop to the cultivation of which he is especially 
adapted. Let him stick to this. 

"And yet," said John Thomas, "the list of crops which 
belong directly or indirectly to this business of market- 
gardening is very long, longer a good deal than Ben Tyler's 
list of his boys. Why, to begin with, there are beets, 
carrots, turnips, parsnips, radishes, lettuce, celery, aspara- 
gus, tomatoes, peppers, rhubarb, sweet corn, peas, beans, 
squashes, melons, cucumbers, cabbages, onions, thyme, 
summer savory, sage, sweet marjoram, and Heaven knows 
how many more. There is a certain degree of similarity 
of cultivation belonging to all these, such as a good, fertile, 
well-manured, well-pulverized, clean soil. But I suppose 
we ought to deal with each one of these which I have 
enumerated, and others in proper order, for the perfection 
at least of our discussion, if not for our own edification. 
If the Club will excuse me, I will begin with those to the 
cultivation of which I am most accustomed. 



382 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

THE ONION. 

" I have raised onions, more or less, for many years. I 
always select for them a warm, mellow, loamy soil ; and 
I use the same plot of ground for this crop year after year. 
The manure which I have used largely is mussel-bed, or 
kelp composted with manure, if I could procure it cheaply 
from the seaside. If I could not, I have resorted to barn- 
yard manure and night-soil, well decomposed and mixed. 
I have used of this ten or twelve cords to the acre to 
advantage. I prepare the land as early in spring as pos- 
sible, ploughing deeply and raking into a smooth and even 
surface. I sow the seed, also, as early as possible, using 
about three pounds to the acre. I sow in rows, with a 
seed-sower, about fifteen inches apart and half an inch 
deep. Great care should be taken to keep the crop free 
from weeds from the beginning. The young plants, once 
choked, never fully recover. Repeated hoeings during the 
early part of the season with a common wheel-hoe are also 
very beneficial, though great care should be taken not to 
pile up the earth about the growing bulbs. The plants 
should be thinned to about two inches apart in the rows. 
An onion crop grows rapidly, and reaches maturity about 
the first of September. It may then be gathered, if the 
tops are completely dead and dry, with a common garden- 
rake ; and the windrows into which they are gathered 
should be dried for a few days on the ground before being 
taken into shelter. As a general rule, an early sale of the 
crop is the wisest. The fluctuations in the market are 
great. The crop is liable to decay if packed in barrels 
and stored, and it is impossible to move it with safety in 
the cold, hard weather of winter. Of the best varieties, it 
is claimed that from five hundred to a thousand bushels 
may be raised to the acre. I have raised eight hundred 
and fifty myself, and Peter Ilsley claimed, before he died, 



MARKET GARDENING. 383 

that year before last he raised nine hundred and seventy- 
five. 

" It may be well to know how I raise my seed ; for I 
always raise my own, being unwilling to depend upon the 
seedsmen, who often charge exorbitant prices, and do not 
always furnish that which is reliable. I always select my 
largest, ripest and best-shaped bulbs ; keep them with 
great care during the winter, and in April, if the weather 
and soil permit, I plant them in rows two feet and a half 
apart, and about nine inches frojii each other in the rows. 
It may be necessary to support the stalks as the heads 
grow and increase in weight. The heads should be gath- 
ered in August, as soon as they turn brown ; and the seed, 
after being threshed out, should be thoroughly dried in the 
sun to prevent its heating and losing its vitality. 

" The varieties which I have found to be the best are 
the Yellow, the Silver-skin, the Large Red, and the Dan- 
vers. The last is a globular onion, the result, as I have 
been told, of a careful selection of bulbs for seeds by the 
farmers of that town, which has for many years been 
famous for this crop. It is a free grower, and yields a 
great crop ; but it is said to be better adapted to the home 
market than for transportation, from its liability to heat on 
account of its size and its softer consistency. 

" Of course the fly threatens to destroy my crop every 
year, as it does that of all the rest of you. And I am 
tormented by stumpy necks, as everybody is. The remedy 
for these evils I have not yet discovered, although I do 
think in these, as in other difficulties with our crops, good 
cultivation and vigorous plants may generally be relied on 
as the best preventive to what cannot easily be cured." 

" I think onions are a very risky crop," said Ben Adams. 
" You are exposed to all sorts of destruction : if the crop 
is small, you can never make up the loss ; if it is large, 
you are very apt to find a heavy market ; if you cannot 



384 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

sell it, you can do nothing with it ; neither cattle nor 
horses nor sheep nor swine will eat it ; and on the whole 
I think it is about like the tobacco crop ; if it sells well, 
you are prosperous and happy ; if it does not, you are of 
all men most miserable." 

" But," said John Thomas, " a great many men have 
made a good deal of money raising onions ; and I am 
willing to take a small risk every year. I must confess, 
however, I like to raise crops which I can feed to my 
cattle, if I cannot find a market for them in any other way. 
And now let me call your attention to 

THE CABBAGE. 

" Cabbages are a favorite crop with me. They usually 
sell well, are easily cultivated, and are valuable as food 
for cattle in case the market is not remunerative. Not 
that I would raise them for cattle as some recommend, for 
I can use my land for this much more profitably with 
Swedes or mangolds. But there is no necessity for wast- 
ing cabbages if you are obliged to keep them on hand, 
and hence I like them. My early cabbages I always start 
in a hotbed and transplant ; my late crop I always raise 
from seed planted in the hill. 

" Cabbages require a strong, heavy, clayey land, warmed 
by an abundance of nitrogeneous manures. Night-soil is 
very useful in cultivating this crop. At any rate, what- 
ever manure you use do not use it sparingly. It is a good 
plan to apply ashes either to the plant when transplanted 
or when it first starts in the hill, as a terror to the maggot, 
which is always threatening the life of the young cabbage. 
I have found it necessary to change my soil each year for 
this crop. Whenever I have raised it two successive years 
on the same land I have found that it was in danger of 
being stump-footed. I seldom raise my seed, but always 



MARKET GARDENING. 385 

get that which is raised in America and by the most 
rehable men. 

"The profit of a cabbage crop is often great. I have sold 
the late varieties, such as the Champion of America, the 
Marblehead Mammoth Drumhead, the Slone-Mason, and 
others, standing in the field, to be gathered and hauled by 
the purchaser, for two hundred and ninety dollars an acre ; 
and on this a fair profit was made. With the early va- 
rieties, such as the Early York, the Early Wakefield, and 
the Early Nonpareil, much larger profits can be made if 
they are brought early to the market. 

"There are so many varieties of cabbage that it seems as 
if cultivators had taxed their ingenuity to produce as many 
as possible. Vox myself, I prefer the Early York for one 
end of the season and the Marblehead Mammoth Drum- 
head for the other. 

THE CAULIFLOWER. 

" In the line of the cabbage I have endeavored to culti- 
vate the cauliflower, but not with great success. What 
the difficulty is I cannot tell. I have often suspected that 
I did not select my land well. I once got a good crop on 
land that had not been long under cultivation, and which 
was deep, rich, and strong. That the most stimulating 
manures should be used there is no doubt. It is said 
that lime and sulphur are very valuable fertilizers for this 
crop, and that salt combined with the manure is very 
beneficial. It undoubtedly requires the same kind of fer- 
tilization as the cabbage, perhaps more liberally applied. 

"The cauliflower should be sown in a hotbed early in 
March, and transplanted into favorable soil and under 
favorable circumstances late in May. If the weather is 
dry, the plants should be liberally watered in order to pro- 
duce a large and well-developed head. The plants should 
25 • 



386 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

be set in rows like the cabbage and cultivated in the same 
manner. The crop is an uncertain one, but is highly re- 
munerative when it succeeds. 

" The plants are fit for the table in October, and they 
may be kept for early winter by hanging them in a dry 
cellar with the heads downwards, or for later winter by 
taking them up in the fall with an abundance of earth and 
roots, and resetting them in the cellar, or in an outbuild- 
ing where they will be safe from frost. In this way they 
can be kept long into the winter. 

" The varieties of the cauliflower are numerous, and 
among the best stand the Wellington and the large 
Adriatic." 

" Mr. President," said Phineas Barnes, " I have listened 
with great pleasure to Mr. Thomas's descriptions of these 
market-garden crops, which he knows so much about, and 
I move that the subject of Market Gardening be referred 
to him and Charles Ingalls as a committee, with instruc- 
tions to report on the remaining crops as fast as possible 
at future meetings." 

The motion was unanimously carried, and the Club ad- 
journed. As the members separated, Mr. Howe quietly 
asked Mr. Hopkins if he did not think Dr. Parker had 
quite abandoned his bad habits. " He has never appeared 
so well to me as he now does," said the minister. " I am 
sure he has had a change of heart, and I am half inclined 
to think that Squire Wright has had a hand in it, from the 
air of intimacy which envelops them." 

" I think you are right about the Doctor," said Mr. Hop- 
kins ; " but whether the work has been done by the Squire 
or the Squire's heifer, with which he seems to be plough- 
ing, I cannot tell." 

"What ! " said the minister, "another lamb in trouble.^" 
And he rushed home to confer with Mrs. Howe. 



MARKET GARDENING. ' 387 



TWENTY-FIFTH MEETING. 

MARKET GARDENING (Continued). 

CHARLES INGALLS AS A LAWYER. — CLASSICAL SKETCH OF PER- 
FIDY. —JOHN THOMAS BEWILDERED. 

i HE day after the last meeting of the Club John Thomas, 
upon whom devolved the work of discussing the many 
remaining crops which belong to the business of market 
gardening, finished his morning's work as rapidly as possi- 
ble, and sought out Charles Ingalls as the most competent 
person in town to aid him in his investigations. He found 
Charles deep in his books in Squire Wright's office, occu- 
pying the green old roundabout chair which had been for 
so many years the Squire's throne. Charles was now 
both student and practitioner. His old teacher had begun 
to withdraw from the business of the office, and merely 
resorted thither an hour or two in the morning for the 
purpose of hearing the news, or attending to his own 
private duties. It had already been discovered that Squire 
Ingalls, as many of the litigants had begun to call him, 
had shrewdness and good judgment enough to make him a 
good counsellor, and knowledge enough of law to make 
him a safe adviser. He preserved, moreover, the original 
condition of the office unimpaired and unchanged, — and 
this was set down largely to his credit by those who had 
become familiar with its dusty and dingy precincts. And 
it was observed by the old habitues of that office and the 
county courts, that many of those cases which had re- 
mained on the docket for years and had become important 
parts of the legal history of the Commonwealth were 



388 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

readily managed by the young squire ; that he had, with 
quick instinct, adopted the ways of the old one ; and that 
his application of the law was the same. Charles did learn 
with great rapidity. His mind grasped with great power 
the general principles of the law, and recognizing it as a 
" solemn expression of the legislative will," he read Black- 
stone with the avidity of a novel-reader, and grew as fa- 
miliar, with Justinian and Grotius and Mansfield as he was 
with the Constitution of the United States and with the 
judges and lawyers whom he met in the court-house. His 
perceptions were keen, his comprehension great, his mem- 
ory tenacious. He had also an honest mind,- — a mind 
which no tempting sophistry could mislead, and whose 
clear understanding enabled him to clothe his thoughts in 
unmistakable language, and enabled him also to discover 
the truth and consistently adhere to it ; a mind promptly 
obedient to the best sentiments, and strong enough to 
maintain a position once taken. The persons who came 
to the office for advice were not long in discovering the 
remarkable powers of this young man, and they soon 
learned to accept his opinion in the adjustment of their 
controversies and to rely upon his law as their best guide. 
And not his intellectual and moral qualities alone secured 
their confidence. His mien and bearing were such that 
those who approached him were filled with respect. He 
was just now entering on a somewhat premature mental 
and physical maturity, — a maturity which had been hast- 
ened by the necessities and responsibilities and labors of 
his early life. To all, his appearance was engaging. His 
face, which when he first came to Jotham as a school- 
master was a trifle too sharp and pale to indicate power, 
and formed too strong a contrast to the dark and heavy 
luxuriance of hair which crowned his smooth and ample 
brow, had become fuller and more ruddy, while his chin 
had grown firmer, his mouth more resolute, his nose more 



MARKET GARDENING. 389 

prominent and vital, and his eye calmer and more pene- 
trating. He was six feet in height, with strong and well- 
formed limbs, and a chest which indicated great power 
and endurance. No young man could be better propor- 
tioned than he. His carriage was erect, firm, and easy ; 
and he presented a specimen of manly beauty rarely seen 
in these later days of heated and exhausting civilization. 
The tones of his voice were strong and melodious, and 
admirably adapted to convey, in all the variety required by 
persuasive oratory, the well-matured thoughts which he 
always endeavored to clothe with the simplest and most 
appropriate language, and to adorn with the most natural 
imagery. The people began to foretell a great career for 
him as he developed before them day by day, and there 
were mingled desires and expectations, spontaneously 
formed, that he would avoid all the temptations of narrow 
official position, and accept only that service in which his 
powers might find their highest development, and his hfe 
might be commanding and useful. They hoped and ex- 
pected that he would at any rate rely on himself and not 
lean upon others. 

When John Thomas entered the office he found Charles 
busily engaged in studying the law of contracts, and so 
absorbed was he in his endeavors to establish in his mind 
the true distinctions between express and implied obliga- 
tions of this sort, that he began to doubt whether a con- 
tract was really a concurrence of minds in reference to any 
given object, and not an attempt to conceal a natural diver- 
gence for the sake of a mere temporary understanding. 
As he lifted his eyes from his book he felt a sudden sense 
of relief at finding so trustworthy and honest and sensible 
a companion as John before him. 

" My dear old friend, how do you do .'' " said he. " Sit 
down and tell me, if you can, why men can't do as they 
agree to in this world." 



390 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

Mr, Thomas had no answer ready. His mind was full 
of the arrangements of the Club, and he had nothing to 
say on either law or philosophy, " Don't know .'' " said 
Charles. " Well, I am satisfied one half fail from igno- 
rance and the other half from wickedness. The hardest 
work in this world is to make men understand each other, 
— next to making yourself understood. What language 
was intended for I can hardly conceive. State a proposi- 
tion to your neighbor to-day, and he will understand it 
just the other way to-morrow. Write it down, and he will 
read it just as you do not. And so I am obliged to 
pore over page after page of most tedious matter, to find 
law enough to compel men to keep their engagements. 
Stupidity and subterfuge make great mischief Evasion 
through wit and evasion through ignorance cause one 
half the trouble in life. I shall never forget how well an 
old Secretary of the Treasury, steeped in old-fashioned 
classics, stated it, when called upon to give his opinion of 
the treaty between the United States and the Netherlands 
relating to a drawback on coffee. He says : ' Equivocation 
and subtilty to evade the spirit and intent of a treaty is 
odious and justly condemned by all civilized nations. The 
examples of Mahomet, Emperor of the Turks, who prom- 
ised a man at the siege of Negropont to spare his head, 
yet afterwards caused him to be cut into two parts through 
the middle of the body, and of Tamerlane, who at the 
siege of Sebaskia induced the city to capitulate upon his 
promise to shed no blood, yet caused all the soldiers of the 
garrison to be buried alive, were gross subterfuges which, 
as observed by Cicero, aggravated the fraud, but did not 
absolve the perfidy. The spirit of a treaty is to be ob- 
served rather than adhering to the letter. Therefore the 
actings of the Roman general, Q. Fabius Fabes, who 
agreed with Antiochus to restore him half of his fleet, yet 
caused each of the ships before the delivery to be sawed in 



MARKET GARDENING. 39 1 

two ; and of Cleomenes, who, having concluded a truce 
for a certain number of days with the people of Argos, 
and finding them on the third night asleep, in reliance 
upon the faith of the treaty, fell upon them, killed a part 
and made the rest prisoners, under pretence that nights 
were not comprehended in the time, — have been stigma- 
tized as scandalous subterfuges and breaches of good faith ; 
and well they might be.' And yet the world is full of Ma- 
homets and Tamerlanes and Fabii and Cleomeneses and 
contractors and violators and knaves and fools. Don't you 
think so, Mr. Thomas } " 

John Thomas stared and made no answer. He was 
unprepared for such an outpouring of letters and indigna- 
tion from Charles Ingalls, whom he had always taken for 
the mildest of young men ; and he attributed much of his 
excitement to the excessive application of the young law 
stifdent to his books. He recalled no glaring breach of 
faith in, the town ; and as he never allowed himself to be 
excited over any imaginary evil, he could not understand 
how Charles could possibly have talked himself into so 
much feeling over the weakness and folly of mankind in 
general, simply because legal ingenuity exhausted itself in 
the work of controlling it. And so he said nothing. 

Charles soon recovered, and brought himself back to the 
realities of life before him. "It was a good piece of gran- 
diloquence, though, in the fine old secretary, as he con- 
sidered the treaty and the coffee-bags, was n't it, Mr. 
Thomas .-• " 

"I have no doubt it was," said John. "And, now you 
have put me in mind of it, I am afraid that an inability to 
do as we agree is man's besetting weakness, and an unwill- 
ingness to do so is man's besetting sin. But we blunder 
a good deal in this world, Charles, and I always have this 
consolation, that so long as we can pay a minister to tell 
us what we ought to do, and a lawyer to tell us what we 



392 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

will be allowed to do, the world will get along pretty well ; 
and every man will have a chance to get a living, notwith- 
standing the confusion created by our blunders and mis- 
takes, and our folly and stupidity." 

Charles looked a moment at John Thomas, and quietly 
said, " I do like a man who never gets tangled up." 

" I called," said John, " to see about the Club, and not 
about contracts or what you call classics. I want to finish 
up Market Gardening at the next meeting ; and I thought 
you might be willing to help me in going through the long 
list of vegetables which belong to this business. If we 
could only meet here some evening I think we might get 
along very well." 

To this Charles agreed, and the next evening the two 
investigators drew up to the old office table, each provided 
with a tallow-dip, having closed the shutters, replenished 
the fire, and looked around the dimly lighted room with a 
sense of veneration for the ancient wisdom which was 
gathered within its walls ; and seated there they continued 
their work on Market Gardening. 

"Gentlemen," said Mr. Hopkins, as he called the Club 
to order on the evening appointed for its next meeting, 
" I ask you to give your attention to the paper which has 
been prepared by Mr. Thomas, on the crops belonging to 
the market-garden and the proper mode of cultivating 
them." 

"The statement which the young squire and I have 
prepared," said John Thomas, " is as short as we could 
make it ; and I hope it covers the whole ground. I will 
read it." 

MARKET GARDENING. 

Mr. President, — - In continuing the discussion of Market 
Gardening, I have concluded to consider the following impor- 
tant crops, namely : — 



MARKET GARDENING. 393 

Asparagus. — It is raised from seed ; sown in the autumn or 
very early spring, in drills fourteen inches apart. Thin out the 
plants to about four inches ; cultivate them well, and cover them 
lightly in winter with straw. Transplant these roots when they 
are two years old into a deep, rich, warm soil, avoiding a clay 
subsoil if possible. Trench the ground before transplanting, 
two feet and a half in depth, and mix with it liberally an abun- 
dance of well-decomposed manure and salt. Lay out the land 
in beds, and set the roots in trenches dug deep enough to cover 
the crown of the plant three inches below the surface of the 
soil when the trench is filled. Set the plants one foot apart each 
way. When the plants are set be careful to spread the roots 
out thoroughly over the soil. Keep the bed free from weeds, 
cut down the tops in the autumn, and cover the beds w-ith two 
or three inches of well-composted inanure. Rake over the beds 
early in the next spring, being careful not to disturb the roots, 
and treat the plants in every way just as you did the year pre- 
vious. Follow the same plan the third year, and on the fourth 
year you can cut freely from the beds. Enrich your asparagus- 
bed every autumn with loam mixed with a good supply of we'l- 
rotted manure, and salt to the amount of three quarts to a 
square rod. The best time to cut asparagus is wdien the plants 
are about four inches above the ground. Begin cutting as early 
as you please, and cease cutting on the 20th of June. 

There are many good varieties of asparagus, all worthy of 
cultivation ; and so worthy that a proper selection of soil is 
found to be more important than a choice of plants ; the same 
variety growing in one locality tough and slender, and in another 
large, tender, and succulent. 

Celery. — Celery has become one of the most profitable of all 
garden vegetables. It is propagated by seed, sown in a hotbed 
in March, on well-pulverized soil, and covered very thinly near 
the surface, wdiich may be i^ressed smooth with the back of a 
spade. When the plants are three inches high transplant them 
into a bed well enriched and worked very fine, where they should 
be allowed to grow until the middle of July, when they should 
be again transplanted into trenches fifteen inches deep and a 



394 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

foot wide, laying the trenches five feet apart and piling the 
earth compactly between them. Supply the trench with a good 
quantity of well-rotted manure, without which the celery will 
not flourish. As the plants, grow up, fill in the earth around the 
stems for the purpose of blanching them, keeping " the stalks of 
the outside leaves close up, to prevent the earth getting between 
the stems of the outside leaves and the inner ones ; for if it does 
this it will check the growth of the plant. Keep the plants well 
earthed up as they grow ; and by the beginning of October they 
will be fit for use." 

" Some allow the plants to make a natural growth," says 
Burr, " and earth up at once, about three weeks before being 
required for use. When so treated the stalks are of remarkable 
whiteness, crisp and tender, and less liable to russet-brown 
spots than when the plants are blanched by the more common 
method." 

When the crop is gathered it should be packed in the cellar 
in moist sand, without covering the ends of the leaves. 

The best variety for general use is undoubtedly the Boston 
Market. 

Lettuce is largely cultivated, and is extensively used in almost 
every market and in alinost every season of the year. It is a 
hardy plant, grows easily on soil adapted to it, and comes to 
perfection equally well under glass and in the open air. It 
grows most luxuriantly in rich, strong soil, and during the cooler 
months of summer. A light, gravelly soil is wholly unfit for it ; 
and the warmer and richer the soil the larger and more tender 
will the heads become. The seeds should be sown in a hotbed 
for the earliest plants, and in the open air as early as March 
and early April, in well-pulverized soil, and covered not more 
than a quarter of an inch ; it can also be sown for successive 
crops until September. It can be sown broadcast or in drills, as 
is most convenient. The plants should be transplanted when 
two or three inches high ; and if in a hotbed, they should be 
frequently watered, and the glass should be covered with mat- 
ting during the cold and frosty nights. They should be set 
about ten inches apart, if a large, well-formed head is desired. 



MARKET GARDENING. 395 

Of all the varieties the Green Curled is undoubtedly the best. 
Of the small early varieties the best are the Hardy-Hammer- 
smith and the Early Curled Simpson. 

Lettuce is, when properly cultivated, one of the most profita- 
ble crops raised ; and, as a salad-plant, is so healthful that no 
well-ordered farm should be without it. 

Ciiaimbers undoubtedly stand next to lettuce in profit as a 
hotbed product or as an open-air crop. The plant is tender 
and delicate, the growth of tropical climes. It grows best on 
warm, light, rich, loamy land, without clay, and in warm and 
dry weather. If raised in a greenhouse, as cucumbers often 
are for a very early market, they can be planted in early winter ; 
if in the open air, they should not be planted until the ground is 
warm and the weather is beyond the danger of frost. The hills 
in which the seeds are planted should be a foot and a half in 
diameter and a foot deep, and filled with well-rotted manure to 
within four inches of the top, and then with three or four inches 
of warm, rich loam. In the hill thus prepared the seeds, about 
twenty in number, should be sown and covered firmly about half 
an inch deep. When the plants have become strong and the 
time for bugs and worms is over, thin out the plants to about 
four in the hill. The fruit should all be gathered as soon as it 
reaches a suitable size, if you would preserve the productiveness 
of the vines. To raise cucumbers for pickling, select warm, 
rich land, prepare it well, and plant the seed about the last of 
June. These should also be picked as soon as they have 
reached the proper size, if j'ou would preserve the productive- 
ness of the vine also. The yield is very great, as many as a 
hundred and twenty-five thousand being sometimes grown on an 
acre. 

The best variety for table use is undoubtedly the Early Frame. 
The White-Spined is also very good. 

The Squash is a valuable field or garden crop. It should be 
planted when the land is warm and the weather is beyond the 
danger of frost. The land should be a warm, rich loam, the 
hills should be eight inches deep and tw^o feet in diameter, and 
filled within three inches of the top with well-rotted manure, 



396 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

which should be covered with about four inches of fine, warm 
loam. Plant about a dozen seeds in the hill, and if the variety 
has a. running vine place the hills about six feet apart. Leave 
three good plants in a hill. The squash should not be twice 
raised on the same land, but should be changed each year to 
avoid the striped bug and cut-worm. For the striped bug the 
remedy is slacked lime sifted on the vines at noonday, with a 
common bale-basket. For the cut-worm the remedy is as yet 
unknown. 

Squashes degenerate rapidly. The best varieties are : for 
summer the Bush Summer Warted Crookneck, the Early Yellow 
Bush Scalloped and the Early White Bush Scalloped ; for autumn 
and winter, the Autumnal Marrow, ihe Canada Crookneck, the 
Hubbard, the Turban, and the Winter Crookneck. It is usually 
an uncertain crop, and does not always find a ready market. 

The Melon. — The cultivation of the melon is very much hke 
that of the squash, the same quality of soil being required for 
both, and the preparation of the hills being the same. 

'I'he varieties of muskmelons which are entitled to considera- 
tion are the Early Cantaloupe, the Black Rock Cantaloupe, 
Monro's Green Flesh, and the Nutmeg. The long, yellow 
muskmelon is hardly worth raising. The best varieties of 
watermelons are the Carolina, the Black Spanish, which ma- 
tures early in the northern latitudes, and the Mountain Sweet, — 
a variety especially adapted to the Middle States. 

The Tomato is raised from seeds planted in a hotbed in 
March, — the plants to be set as early in May as possible. 
Burr tells us that the French mode of raising tomatoes is as 
follows : " As soon as a cluster of flowers is visible, they top 
the stem down to the cluster, so that the flowers terminate the 
stem. The effect is that the sap is immediately impelled into 
the two buds next below the cluster, which soon push strongly 
and produce another cluster of flowers each. When these are 
visible, the branch to which they belong is also topped down to 
their level ; and this is done five times successively. By this 
means the plants become stout dwarf bushes, not above eighteen 
inches high. In order to prevent their falling over, sticks or 



MARKET GARDENING. 397 

strings are stretched horizontally along the rows, so as to keep 
the plants erect. In addition to this, all laterals that have no 
flowers, and, after the fifth topping, all laterals whatever are 
nipped off. In this way the ripe sap is directed into the fruit, 
which acquires a beauty, size, and excellence unattainable by 
other means. 

There are many varieties, all good except the white and 
yellow. 

Rhubarh, a hardy perennial plant, has become very common 
as a profitable market-garden product. It is propagated by a 
division of the roots, and grows best in a deep, rich, strong soil. 

The plants should be set in rows five feet apart, and three 
feet apart in the rows. " For the first year the ground between 
the rows may be cropped with lettuce, turnips, beans, or similar 
low-growing crops ; but after the second year the leaves will 
cover the whole space, and require it also for their full develop- 
ment." 

Keep the soil clear and well manured, and break down the 
flower-stalks as soon as they are formed. 

In gathering the crop break the leaf-stems off clear to the 
base, as cutting leaves the stalk in a condition for a free flow 
of the sap. 

This plant is sometimes blanched, but this is done at the 
expense of its quality and flavor. 

The best variety is the Early Prince Imperial. 

The Pea is a very common crop, but it is not always well 
grown ; in fact, it is considered so common and so easy to 
raise, that it is often injured by neglect. It should be planted 
in light, rich soil, about three and a half inches below the sur- 
face, in rows, and manured with well-rotted manure, composted 
if possible with leaf mould. Warm and stimulating fertilizers, 
such as guano or hen-manure, may be advantageously added to 
the compost. For all the dwarf varieties the soil should be lib- 
erally enriched. The rows should be about two and a half feet 
apart. Sometimes they are planted in double rows twelve 
inches apart, and when so planted all the dwarf varieties will 
support each other. But when the taller varieties are grown 



398 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

a greater yield will be secured by sticking the plants, which 
should be done when they are three or four inches high. The 
sticks should be in the form of a neat, well-trimmed bush. 
When peas are hoed, the earth should be drawn up about the 
roots. 

Peas are liable to mildew, and on this point Knight says : 
" The secondary and immediate cause of this disease is want 
of a sufficient supply of moisture from the soil, with excess of 
humidity in the air, particularly if the plants be exposed to a 
temperature below that to which they have been accustomed. 
If damp and cloudy weather succeed that which has been warm 
and bright, without the intervention of sufficient rain to moisten 
the ground to some depth, the crop is generally much injured 
by mildew." Plentiful watering is said to prevent this disease. 
Sulphur is said to cure it. The varieties of peas are almost 
innumerable. The Dan O'Rourke and Dwarf Marrow are good 
enough for the small varieties, and the Champion of England 
and the Marrowfat for the large varieties. But you can hardly 
go amiss, and it may be an amusement to change the variety 
each succeeding year. 

The Bean is one of the best esculents grown. It is thrifty 
and prolific, and when used in the pod is very palatable, and 
when shelled is highly nutritious. It should not be planted 
until the weather is warm, as it is very liable to be injured by 
the frost. Plant the dwarf varieties in drills, placing the drills 
about eighteen inches apart, and the seed about four inches 
apart in the drills. Plant the running varieties in hills three 
feet apart one way and two feet the other, leaving four plants 
in a hill, unless the plants are small, when you can double the 
number. The soil should be warm, rich, and well manured. 

You can plant the Bagnolet for a string-bean, and for a shelled 
dwarf bean the Dwarf Horticultural, the Golden Cranberry, the 
Mohawk, and White's Early ; and for a shelled pole-bean, the 
Horticultural, the Mottled Case-knife, the Red Cranberry, and 
almost any one of the twenty varieties which the seedsmen like 
to sell. 

Beans, whether dwarf or pole, or white or turtle, or string or 



MARKET GARDENING. 399 

shelled, are a profitable crop, and so nutritious that no farm 
should be without them. 

The Turnip, although a plant easily cultivated, is especially 
sensitive with regard to the soil on which it grows. A warm, 
light, sunny loam, entirely free from clay, is best suited to its 
growth ; and the manure used in its cultivation should be well 
rotted and composted with a warm loam. The use of nitro- 
geneous manures, such as night-soil and green barn-yard manure, 
is apt to make the root tough and corky, and rough on the 
surface. The turnip should be sown as early as the ground is 
ready to receive it. The early part of the season is best adapted 
to its growth, and the great and chief profit in this crop is ob- 
tained by supplying an early market. The seed should be sown 
in rows about fifteen inches apart, and the plants may be al- 
lowed to stand pretty thickly in the rows, proximity not appear- 
ing to injure them at all. Turnips, both spring sown and fall 
sown, are easily and somewhat roughly cultivated. An excess of 
hard labor upon them is therefore wasted. They can be gath- 
ered as they are required, either for market or the table, until 
the first of November, when they should be harvested and stored. 

The garden turnip is usually one of the flat varieties, such as 
the early flat Dutch, the Golden Ball, the Green-top Flat, and 
the Purple-top Strap-leaved. The flesh of the best table varie- 
ties is white. The long varieties, such as the Cow-Horn, are 
not so delicate in their flavor, and are more useful as a fall 
crop, to be sown after early peas and potatoes, and fed to catde 
during the winter. I am not sure that the Cow-Horn is not as 
profitable a crop as the Swede. 

The Beet. — The table beet, commonly known as the Red 
Beet, requires a soil somewhat like that which is favorable to 
the growth of the turnip, except that a mingling of clay is gen- 
erally beneficial. The fertilizers which the beet requires also 
dift'er from those needed by the turnip. Strong, well-rotted 
manure, in which there is a reasonable admixture of salt and 
portion of night-soil gives a good growth to the beet. It feeds 
well on nitrogen. 

The beet can well be sown in the autumn for an early spring 



400 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

crop ; and for summer and autumn use they should be sown as 
early in May as possible. The seed of the beet does not ger- 
minate readily, and great care should be taken in the sowing. 
Some cultivators soak the seed in warm water twenty-four hours 
before sowing, but I doubt the benefit of this process. 

Beets should always be harvested before they are touched by 
the frost. They will, if properly harvested and properly stored, 
retain their sweetness through the entire winter. Medium-sized 
roots rapidly grown are the best for table use. 

The varieties of the beet are numerous ; the best early varie- 
ties being Cattell's Dwarf Blood, Early Flat Bassano,Early Blood 
Turnip-rooted, and the Half-long Blood for a later variety. 

The Club will bear in mind that in considering the beet and 
turnip as a market-garden crop, I have not included the ruta- 
baga or Swede, nor the mangel-wurzel, which are field crops 
alone, and are intended for an entirely different purpose. 

The Carrot. -7- The carrot is a moderately valuable root, 
whether in the field or in the garden. It flourishes well in a 
warm, light, deeply-tilled loam, well enriched with thoroughly 
decomposed barn-yard manure. The ground should be well 
prepared, finely worked, and raked smooth before sowirg. The 
seed should be sown in rows about fifteen inches apart, and 
the crop should be kept clean from the start. The carrot should 
be harvested before it is touched by the frost, and when kept 
for table use it should be packed in sand in the cellar. As I do 
not believe in it as a field crop for cattle and horses, I shall 
consider it as a market-garden crop alone. The best varieties 
are the Early Horn, the Early Half Long Scarlet, and the Early 
Frame. The larger varieties are apt to be coarse and fibrous. 

The Pai'snip is rapidly coming into more general use than 
formerly. It is not an easy root to cultivate, and it should be 
sown in early spring in warm, rich, deep land. It will not grow 
well in gravelly, shallow, or clayey soil. This crop is unfit for 
use until late in the autumn, and is vastly improved as an article 
of food for the table by being allowed to remain in the earth all 
winter. Parsnips are apt to wilt in the cellar if placed there in 
the autumn. They may, however, be packed in sand in the 



MARKET GARDENING. 4OI 

spring, and kept fresh and firm until late in June. The parsnip 
is a luxury, but it is one which every farmer can afford to cul- 
tivate. 

I have considered the principal crops which enter into the 
business of market gardening, and which, if not essential in all 
cases to the farmer's business, are at least useful for his table. 
A long list might be added, I am aware, such as the Artichoke, 
Cress, Curasin, Oyster-plant, Chickory, Chive, Colewort, Sweet 
Corn, which is grown as a field crop, Egg-plant, Endives, Fennel, 
Garlic, Lavender, Leek, Radishes, Mushrooms, Nasturtiums, 
Okra, Parsley, Peppers, Martyneas, Gherkins, Sage, Spinach, 
Sweet Marjoram, Thyme, Summer Savory, and many others 
which may be cultivated as a matter of taste, and sometimes, 
under fortunate circumstances, as a matter of profit. I have 
dealt with the most important crops, and I now leave the sub- 
ject for general discussion. 

The elaborate discourse of John Thomas was followed 
by some interesting talk upon the minor details of market 
gardening, in which the members of the Club related some 
interesting experiences in the cultivation of unusual crops, 
and the profit often derived from an accidental market. 
The meeting adjourned at a late hour. 

As the gentlemen passed out, after bidding Mr. Hopkins 
good night, Charles Ingalls joined John Thomas, and 
strolled along toward home with him, their paths lying 
in the same direction. As they walked on, Charles re- 
turned to their old discussion of man's fidelity and relia- 
bility. "I think," said he, "I was a little severe on human 
nature when we last met. On reflection, I have come to 
the conclusion that the intricacies of artificial life, of state 
and of society, of property and of education, are a little too 
much for man who has made them. I am disposed to 
think, after all, man is more overloaded than vicious, espe- 
cially since I talked with Clara about it." 

" I don't know but you are right," said John Thomas, 
thoughtfully. And they parted. 
26 



402 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 



TWENTY-SIXTH MEETING. 

SUPERSTITIONS AND CRANBERRIES. 

CHARLES INGALLS PUTS UP HIS SIGN ON FRIDAY. — ITS REMOVAL. 
— A LONG LIST OF SUPERSTITIONS. — JOE DOLE DOES THE BUSI- 
NESS. 

It was on Friday, the 25th day of March, 18 — , that Charles 
Ingalls put up his sign as " Attorney at Law," beneath 
that of Squire Wright, on the front door of the little office 
in the village of Jotham. He had progressed so rapidly in 
his profession that the neighborhood had already, by com- 
mon consent, installed him in the position of legal adviser ; 
and by the same consent he had been admitted to the bar, 
in the county court, where, without much formality, his 
attainments were considered of more importance than the 
time which he had spent in his law studies. The people 
knew no reason why he should longer delay entering for- 
mally into his profession, and the lawyers who examined 
him could find none. Squire Wright, too, was quite willing 
to encourage the premature operation ; and when it was 
over, he was also quite willing to establish the young law- 
yer in his own office, and to allow the name of " Charles 
Ingalls, Attorney at Law," to be placed beneath his own, 
which had adorned the walls of the primitive building for 
so many years. There was but little consultation between 
the old Squire and the young one with regard to the terms 
upon which they should enjoy the joint occupancy of the 
office, and none whatever on the time when the public 
announcement of the fact should be made by the plainly 
lettered sigrn on the front of the buildins:. 



SUPERSTITIONS AND CRANBERRIES. 403 

Charles Ingalls had risen early on the eventful morning, 
and before the people of the village were stirring, he had 
nailed his name to the wall, and was diligently engaged in 
examining a case which had been placed in his hands the 
day before. Of course he expected the congratulations of 
his friends on this first step on the real highway of life. 
But in this he was doomed to disappointment. One after 
another they came in, " passed the time of day," attended 
to their business and departed, without an allusion to 
the important event. It was evident to him that they 
were perfectly aware of the public announcement that he 
was a lawyer in good standing, and an associate with the 
best of the fraternity ; but it was also evident that they 
were determined to say nothing about it, and that they 
entertained moreover a feeling of doubt with regard to the 
result. He grew perplexed and disappointed as the day 
wore on ; and he began to feel that nothing was so effec- 
tual to harden the heart of man as the prosperity of his 
fellows. It was nearly noon when Squire Wright made 
his daily call at the office. He entered with a busy and 
somewhat nervous air, stood a few minutes before the fire, 
examined an old file of letters with apparent interest, 
walked to the window and looked out, and inquired of 
Charles how he was getting on with his case. He did not 
seem to be much interested in the answer, and he did not 
wait to receive it ; but as he passed along towards the door 
and went out, he said in a hurried tone quite unusual to 
him, " Good morning, Charles. Sign out, I see. Don't 
you know that Friday is hangman's day .-' " 

Charles had no time to answer ; the old Squire was gone ; 
and now Charles's disappointment was double, and a pain- 
ful suspicion that perhaps he had made an unlucky begin- 
ning of life added greatly to his disquietude. He was 
sensible enough and free from all superstition ; but it began 
to dawn upon him that he had violated a deep-rooted sen- 



404 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

timent of the community in which he lived, and he made 
up his mind that whether it was right or wrong he would 
have been wise to recognize it. There was nothing to be 
done, however, and so he laughed a little nervous laugh, 
thought upon the popular follies with a slight scorn, half 
wished that he had remembered what day it was when 
he put up that vexatious sign, and returned to his home in 
the evening to be unusually courteous to the widow Bell, 
and especially kind and fascinating to Miss Clara. The 
day which he had entered upon with so much elastic hope 
and promise had become clouded before it was high noon, 
and he was grieved to feel that its refulgence had been 
bedimmed by an accident, and tarnished by what was to 
his own mind a foolish whim, but by what became a source 
of nervous uneasiness to him when it rose to the mag- 
nitude of a popular belief and a recognized superstition. 
Clara made the evening of that day delightful, and painted 
with almost girlish enthusiasm the future of the young 
lawyer who had just now set forth on his high career. 
But somehow Charles wished that the day could be blotted 
out, and that he could begin again, and under new auspices ; 
and Clara wondered that, as she babbled on, he had no story 
to tell of the friendly congratulations he had received from 
his friends, whom she knew he must have seen during the 
day, and who she was sure would share with her the 
pleasure she felt over his starting forth in life. 

It was barely sunrise the next morning, when Charles 
Ingalls returned to his office to commence the labors of 
the day, impelled by a youthful zeal to press on in his 
work, and stirred also by that morbid impulse which forces 
us back to the contemplation of a painful and unwelcome 
truth, which we should be glad to expel from our sight 
forever. As he approached the office, he turned his eyes 
to the unlucky sign, expecting to enjoy the delicious pain of 
finding his tormentor there still, with its dismal prophecy 



SUPERSTITIONS AND CRANBERRIES. 405 

of ail unfortunate future. He looked at first with a half 
stolen glance, but with that he only saw the name of 
"Henry Wright, Attorney at Law." He looked 
again with a full gaze, and still he saw only the name 
of his old master. His own sign was gone ; and as he 
realized the fact that his name had been torn from that 
wall, that fate had been thwarted, and that he had really 
a chance to begin again, and begin in a way which would 
remove all the doubts created by popular superstition, and 
would restore him to the solid promise of popular confi- 
dence, he laughed at himself; at the place which once 
knew his sign and now knew it no more ; at the people ; 
at his luck ; and with a keen sense of the absurdity of his 
position, he tittered along towards the office door, opened 
it, and entered. As he swung back the door, he saw upon 
the floor, at the threshold, a soiled and dingy bit of paper 
folded in form of a note and addressed to himself. He 
opened it, and read as follows : — 

jotham, Mar. 25, 18- 
deer Sur : if you don't kno beter than too begin yure life 
friday you ought to hav yure eers cuffed, you may bee smart 
but i am smarter. The Cock will crow twelve o'clock at night 
in five minuits and then it will be too late ; but I have gut the 
sine down. You'll find it under the stepps of Joppa skulehous. 
go and git it. nail it up agin tomorrer. All rite now. you are 
too good a feller to be killed afore you start. 

Yr frend Joe Dole. 

Charles read and re-read, laughed and re-laughed. He 
made his fire on the old brass andirons, made a pretence 
of sweeping up the hearth, and sat down to his books 
profoundly amused and impressed by the evidence of wit 
and folly which he had before him, quite rejoiced at his 
escape, and waiting for the coming of some friend to whom 
he might impart his information, and who might join him 
in his trip to Joppa school-house in search for the lost sign. 



406 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

He realized the fact, moreover, that the community, which 
had been dismayed at his mistake, was entitled to the full 
benefit of the remedy which Joe Dole had so kindly and 
so gallantly offered ; and for this reason, also, he waited 
for a companion to aid him in rescuing the sign and giv- 
ing publicity to its restoration and his own redemption. 
It was not long before Dr. Parker appeared on his early 
return from the house of a patient with whom he had 
spent half the night, and expressing surprise at the way in 
which Charles had taken time by the forelock, entered the 
office and sat down before the fire, rejoicing in the cheer- 
ing, glowing heat which radiated from the burning sticks, 
and poured over and into him a warmth which was pe- 
culiarly grateful to one who, enfeebled by long watching 
in the night, had stepped out into the chilling air of an 
early spring morning. 

Dr. Parker heard Charles's story, and read Joe Dole's 
letter with great glee. He leaned over the fire, rubbed 
his hands, chafed himself into a genial glow, and expanded 
with deep, internal, chuckling laughter. 

" This is too good," said he. " The demons are abroad 
still. Simon Magus and Appollonius of Tyana, and the 
witches of Macbeth may be dead, but their disciples still 
live ; and I believe they will live until the world comes to 
an end. Good for Joe Dole. He evidently believes in a 
devil, and rejoices to head him off in his devilish designs. 
Now, Charles, let us start." 

The walk to Joppa school-house was a long one. But 
the two friends set out with vigor and energy, amused, 
elated, and stirred by a faint and lurking ecstasy which a 
ghostly mystery will often infuse into the heart of the 
sturdiest and boldest. They reached the school-house, 
found the sign under the doorstep, and in the bright sun- 
light of that spring morning, when the villagers were all 
abroad, they restored it to its place on the office wall. 



SUPERSTITIONS AND CRANBERRIES. 407 

The people were at rest, and Charles entered once more 
upon his labors, this time, as they believed, with the fa- 
voring gales of fortune. 

It cannot be denied that Mr. Howe and Mr. Hopkins 
and John Thomas, and all the calm and sensible citizens 
rejoiced that Charles had escaped the dangers of the 
unlucky day. They believed nothing in it themselves ; 
but everybody else did believe that the day was a bad one in 
which to begin, and that was enough. And it was with a 
real sense of relief and satisfaction that these three gentle- 
men arranged for the next meeting of the Club, feeling 
confident that not only agriculture, but popular notions 
and whims also, would be vigorously discussed. 

And so it proved. As the members of the Club gathered 
together on that breezy March night, in which the wind- 
tossed branches of the old elms rocked and creaked in the 
fitful light of the moon, which was in mid-heaven wading 
through the fleeting clouds, it was evident that they were 
not to be brought easily to order. 

" That was a narrow escape for the young squire," said 
William Jones. 

" You don't believe in all that nonsense, Bill Jones ? " 
said Sam Barker, in a tone which indicated that, notwith- 
standing his bravado, he was not sure that the devil would 
not put his paw upon him the next moment. 

" Don't I though } " replied Jones. " Why, how many 
times I have heard my dear old mother warn me against 
Friday. ' Don't get married Friday,' she always said. 
' Don't start on a journey. Don't begin a job of work.' 
And I have heard her many a time sing the old lines: — 

" Friday night's dreams on the Saturday told 
Are sure to come true, be they never so old.' " 

" O, well," said Ben Adams, " there 's more in this than 
you think there is. This is a queer old world, after all. 



4o8 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

Why, I was told years and years ago, by my grandmother, 
that pigs can see the wind ; that hairy people are born to 
be rich ; and that people born in the night never see 
spirits ; and I believe it. Why should n't it be so ? " 

" You might just as well tell me that if a cat sneezes or 
coughs every person in the house will have a cold," said 
Moses Person, boldly. 

"And so I do," replied Phineas Barnes. "And let me 
tell you, for I know it, that if in the morning, without 
intending it or knowing it, you put on your stockings the 
wrong side outwards, you will have good luck all day. 
And stockings hung cornerwise at the foot of the bed 
with a pin stuck in them will keep off the nightmare." 

" I have learned to be mighty careful what I do when I 
am among folks," said Sam Barker ; " for I remember that 
once when I was talking thoughtlessly with a good woman 
I carelessly turned a chair around two or three times ; she 
was offended, and said it was a sign we should quarrel ; 
and so it proved, for she never spoke friendly to me 
afterwards." 

" I have heard," said Squire Wright, " that when your 
cheek burns it is a sign some one is talking about you ; 
when your ears tingle lies are being told about you ; when 
your nose itches you will be vexed ; when your right eye 
itches it is a sign of good luck ; or your left eye, of bad 

luck ; but 

' Left or right 
Brings good at night' " 

" It 's unlucky to pare your nails on Sunday," remarked 
Mr. Howe. 

" I have been told," said Mr. Hopkins, " that when you 
pass under a ladder you must spit through it, two or three 
times afterwards, if you want good luck. Do you believe 
this. Captain Glass } " 

" I don't know about that," said the Captain, who hap- 



SUPERSTITIONS AND CRANBERRIES. 409 

pened to be in town on that evening; "but I do believe 
that a spark in a candle is a sign of a letter coming ; that 
bubbles in tea denote kisses ; and that birds' eggs hung in 
a house are unlucky." 

"They used to tell me v^hen I was a boy," said John 
Thomas, "that if I did n't have something new on New 
Year's day, I should n't get anything new through the 
year." 

" Now let me give you some remedies," remarked Dr. 
Parker : — 

"To cure corns, steal a piece of beef, bury it in the 
ground ; and as it decays the corns will go away. To 
cure whooping-cough, pass the child three times before 
breakfast under a blackberry-bush, both ends of which 
grow into the ground ; or take advice from a man riding 
on a piebald horse, if you can possibly meet one on the 
road. They used to tell me in England that these reme- 
dies are infallible, and I have heard so in this country. I 
don't doubt they are as infallible as anything else." 

" Keep in your purse a bent coin or one with a hole in 
it, and you will always have plenty of money," said the 
thrifty Mr. Hopkins. 

" How often have I heard the young girls in England 
singing, in the moonlight evenings," said Dr. Parker, — 

" ' New moon, new moon, I hail thee 
By all the virtues in thy body. 
Grant this night that I may see 
He who my true-love is to be.' " 

" And I remember an old plan of discovering and catch- 
ing a thief," said Mr. Hopkins. " I went into a house in 
England many years ago, in which the good man of the 
house had lost a shirt. The thief, I believe, was suspected. 
And so they took a Bible and a key out of the house, and 
bound the key to the Bible against the ist chapter of 



4IO THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

Ruth, 17th verse: 'The Lord do so to me and more also!' 
Then with great silence and gravity they called on a boy 
and girl to place their left hands behind their backs, the 
middle fingers of their right hands balancing the key. 
The wife of the person who had lost his shirt then said: 
' The Lord do so to me and more also. Has he got my 
husband's shirt } ' naming all the persons in the house. 
And when the right name was reached, down went the 
Bible and the key, and the thief was discovered." 

" Yes," said Squire Wright, " and the day of the week 
on which the 14th of May falls will be unlucky through 
the year." 

" Now," said Captain Glass, " let me give you some of the 
best signs of the weather : — 

•' When the raven soars round and round at a great 
height in the morning and croaks loudly, the day will be 
fine. 

" The loud clamor of ducks and geese is a sign of rain. 

" Before rain, swine are uneasy ; rub in the dust, as do 
also the cocks and hens. 

" Cows and sheep gather into the corner of a field before 
a storm. 

" The presence of sea-gulls inland denotes a storm. 

" In fine weather the bat continues flying until late in 
the evening. 

" Flies bite and gnats sting in the autumn before rain. 

" The clamorous croaking of frogs indicates rainy 
weather. 

" Beetles flying about in the evening indicate that the 
next day will be fair. 

" Dogs are sleepy or lie before the fire when rain is 
coming. 

" Moles throw up the earth before rain. 

" Spiders crawling on the wall denote that rain will 
ensue. 



SUPERSTITIONS AND CRANBERRIES. 411 

" When trees and hedges are full of berries it indicates 
a hard winter. 

" It is a sign of rain when the pigeons return slowly to 
the dove-houses. 

" Before rain the guinea fowls squall more than usual, 
and so do the peacocks. 

" When dew lies plenteously on the grass in the evening, 
the next day will be fine. When there is no dew, the next 
day will be wet. 

" If the sun sets clear on Friday night 
It 's a sign of rain before Monday night." 

"And now," said William Jones, with a sanctimonious 
air and a nasal twang, " let me tell you, finally, that the 
howling of dogs foretells death ; and dogs can see death 
enter a house." 

"And let me tell you," said Dr. Parker, " that if children 
do not cry at christening they will not live long, and Mr. 
Howe knows it." 

" And let me tell you," added Mr. Howe, impressively, 
" that some persons carry in their pockets a piece of a 
coffin to keep away the cramp ; and to prevent dreaming 
about a dead body you must touch it." 

" Come, come," said Charles Ingalls, " we have had 
enough of this. My ' individual ' hairs begin to ' stand on 
end, like quills upon the fretful porcupine ! ' I am glad Joe 
Dole, wherever he is, took down my sign, and told me 
where to find it, and how to restore it. I suppose, my 
friends, you are now all satisfied with that job. But while 
I am perfectly willing to do anything to pacify your minds, 
I must remind you that there is a difference between ob- 
serving the laws based on natural events and the mysteries 
of the supernatural. I am willing to believe that bats and 
beetles and dogs and frogs can foretell rain ; but I am not 
willing to believe in the power of a chip from a coffin, or 



412 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

the communications of a ghost, or in those made by pre- 
tended spirits. I am willing to believe that Friday is an 
unlucky day ; but I am not willing to believe that good 
wit and good wisdom do not mean more than good luck in 
the working out of that plan which God has committed to 
his children on earth." 

" A pretty good sermon," hastily interposed Mr. Howe, 
who thought this conversation had gone far enough. " I 
trust we shall now lay aside our discussion of superstitions 
and turn to the discussion of the Cranberry, the subject 
proposed by the committee. Upon this, Mr. Hopkins 
called the Club to order with unusual energy. Each man 
took his seat, and Charles Ingalls presented the report 
which he had prepared upon the subject of 

THE CULTIVATION OF THE CRANBERRY. 

Mr. President, — I have undertaken the work assigned me 
for this evening, conscious of my inability to speak upon it from 
the standpoint of experience. The cultivation of the cranberry 
has not come under my own eyes, and the transfer of this deli- 
cious fruit from the cold and wet localities in which it grows 
spontaneously into systematic and well-arranged beds, where it 
can develop itself as plants and animals may under the foster- 
ing hand of man, is a business whose details I have been obliged 
to obtain from those who are familiar with the work. For what 
I shall say I am indebted to an intelligent and observing 
friend, Mr. Stephen N. Gifford, of Duxbury, who while occupy- 
ing his time there as a teacher of youth, and a good one too, 
has also found leisure to bring some of the peat-bogs of that 
town into the most profitable production of the fruit which we 
have under consideration. Older than I am by many years, he 
has extended to me the kindest sympathy in that profession to 
which we both belonged before I entered upon the law, and 
now he has kindly and patiently bestowed upon me that infor- 
mation upon this practical question of agricvilture, without which 
all I could say to you this evening would be of no value what- 



SC/PERSTITIONS AND CRANBERRIES. 413 

soever.* I think Mr. Gifford's instructions contain all that is 
to be known, or, at any rate, r.ll that is worth knowing, with 
regard to the practical business before us. He advises us to 
select a piece of swamp land with a peat bottom, through which 
runs a brook capable, if dammed, of flowing the land with ease 
and rapidity. It is found that land of this description is better 
than a meadow, so called, covered with grass, and producing as 
a natural growth what is termed meadow hay, because it is more 
easily cleared for the purpose of cultivating cranberries, and is 
more likely when cleared to remain free from grass, which is the 
especial obstacle in the way of raising this crop. A meadow, 
however, can be used if it is absolutely necessary. 

Having selected the bog, pare it clean as far down as the 
peat, removing all grass roots if possible, and all rushes and 
bush.'S. When this is done, Itvel the bog. Lay it out in beds 
thiny f-;et wide, cutting ditches through to the main channel of 
the water, and crowning each bed in the centre, so that the water 
will readily flow off, — stagnant water being very injurious to the 
vines. Wall up the ditches with boards laid along the edges, 
a. d running down into the ditch about a foot. Then drive 
stakes down into the ditches to which the boards can be fas- 
tened, and support the stakes with braces nailed to the top and 
across the ditch. 

Cover the bog now with sand, clear, pure sand, without any 
admixture of loam, to the depth of three inches at least, and not 
over five. The object of sanding is to prevent the peat from 
dr\ing and cracking, and to prevent the vines from growing 
rank ; medium-sized and slow-growing vines being the most 
fruitful. The sand also aids the cultivator in keeping the weeds 
out of his crop. If tlie vine grows too vigorously, it sends up 
f^nver fruit-bearing stalks from the joints. 

* The reader will recognize in this amiable teacher in Du.xbury, who so 
readily furnished his young friend many years ago the information he needed 
with regard to cranberry culture, the present worthy and venerable Clerk of 
the Massachusetts Senate, who brought from the school-house to the Senate 
chamber all those qualities which make him an admirable officer and a cour- 
teous gentleman. 



414 THE FARM- YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

Vines for planting should be selected with reference to the 
quality of fruit they bear. They may be cut from a common 
cranberry meadow with the scyth-, or pulled uj:) by the roots. 
The new vines may be propagated from cuttings or from roots, 
the latter securing the earliest maturity, the former being the 
most expeditious method. In setting, take a cluster of eight or 
ten cuttings, make a hole in the sand with a dibble or stick, and 
place the cluster deep enough to reach the moisture of the bog. 
Some persons sow the cuttings in drills. The plants can be 
taken up from May ist to July ist, and set out immediately. 
Set the clusters in rows eighteen inches each way. Keep the 
land free from weeds and rushes and meadow grasses. 

The meadow is now planted. The vines will bear fruit lighdy 
the year after setting, if they are set early in the spring ; if they 
are set in the autumn you will get no fruit the next season. The 
berries will increase in amount from year to year until the fourth 
or fifth year ; and on the latter year you will probably get a full 
crop. A fair crop is from fifty to seventy-five barrels to the 
acre; worth in the market from $8.50 to $11 per barrel, 
according to the quality. 

A meadow is good for nothing, and should have no money 
spent upon it, unless it has a liberal stream of water controlled 
at all times for the purposes of flowage. A reservoir is useful if 
the size of the meadow or bog will warrant it. Dam the stream 
securely at the outlet of the bog. Flow according to necessity. 
If the cranberry patch is a new one, set in the spring, it is 
important to flow it early in the autumn, before the frost has a 
chance to touch it ; say about October ist. This should be 
done if you can cover the meadow at once with water ; in fact, 
a meadow which cannot be flowed rapidly should not be set in 
the autumn, but early in the spring. Retain the water on the 
meadow from the middle to the last of May. Draw it OiT then, 
and leave the meadow to the action of sun and air. 

The two enemies of the cranberry are the fire-worm or web- 
worm, and the fruit-worm. The former attacks the vine about 
the first of August, — the fruit-worm attacks it about the same 
time, or when the fruit is two thirds grown. The origin of these 



SUPERSTITIONS AND CRANBERRIES. 415 

pests is immaterial. The remedy is flowage, and as tlie time of 
their attacks is midsummer, it is important to have a reservoir 
to draw from, in case the stream should be low. It is unsafe to 
keep the water on in summer more than twenty-four hours ; and 
it should be on at night, if possible. Sometimes flowing in 
June will prevent the development of the imperious insects; 
but this should be done with great care. It is a good plan to 
keep the water-level of the bog within three or four inches of 
the surface, if possible, in order that the roots of the vine may 
always have an abundance of moisture. The fruit when thor- 
oughly formed should never be flowed ; and at this time the 
water should be lowered in the bog. 

The crop should be gathered by hand, a cranberry-rake being 
injurious to the berry. The fruit is injured by handling, and 
should be picked so clean from the vines that it can be packed 
at once. The fruit should never be put into a bag for fear of 
its being crushed ; but it can be placed with advantage in boxes 
or barrels on the meadow where it is picked. The best form of 
a package is a box capable of holding about a bushel and a 
half, and slatted on two sides and the top, or on two sides and 
the bottom, according to your taste. When the boxes are filled 
they should be left open until it becomes necessary to close 
them up for market. And if purchased and to be kept in the 
boxes all winter, the fruit should be uncovered. 

Cranberries should be kept in a cool, dry place, with the ther- 
mometer at about 40°. 

Charles Ingalls closed his essay and answered the ques- 
tions put to him as well as he could. The members were 
grateful to him for his investigations, and voted the thanks 
of the Club to his friend Gilford for his practical instruction. 
But their minds naturally returned with rapidity to the 
supernatural channel in which they had been running, and 
many a member went home that night through the dark- 
ness startled by every howling dog, and sensitive to the 
point of folly with regard to the signs of the times. 



4i6 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 



T^yENTY-SEVENTH MEETING. 

SMALL FRUITS AND FLOWERS. 

CLARA BELL AND FANNY. — CLARA'S AMBITION FOR CHARLES — 
HER PERTURBED SOUL. — HER FRIENDS UNEQUAL TO THE OC- 
CASION. 

L^LARA BELL, around whom all the circumstances of 
life were simple and undemanding and bright, became per- 
plexed and troubled. Her experience had been small, it is 
true; but her personal beauty had drawn about her a circle 
of admirers whose intellectual capacity appealed to her 
pride and called forth all her mental powers. She was 
but a school-girl when she found a companion in Dr. 
Parker and an accepted lover in Charles Ingalls, and when 
she became the object of the admiration of Mr. Howe and 
Mr. Hopkins and of the old Squire. But she was a bright 
school-girl, and she could by no means be satisfied with 
the attentions bestowed upon her for her physical charms 
alone. She was indeed beautiful, — so beautiful that all the 
village was proud of her. Born to no position which could 
in any way excite the envy of her companions, she took 
her place in the uniform and indiscriminate society about 
her with a right as natural and as recognized as that given 
to the proudest and stateliest tree in the forest. She had 
not left her girlhood entirely behind her ; and yet she had 
advanced far enough into the maturity of womanhood to 
arrest and command those whose intellectual demands had 
been sharpened by age and experience. She was tall, and 
as graceful as a palm-tree. Her well- shaped and well- 
balanced head, crowned with a luxuriance of rich brown 



SMALL FRUITS AND FLOWERS. 



417 




CLARA BELL AND HER HOiMK. 



41^ THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

silken hair, over which the slanting rays of the sun threw 
a warm and golden light, and whose wavy lines never de- 
generated to a curl, seemed to be the natural abode of 
power and fervor combined. Her calm and steady blue 
eye was full of wisdom and affection, expressive of uncon- 
scious confidence in herself and tender deference towards 
those whom she loved. Her nose, with its well-arched bridge 
and thin and plastic nostrils ; her firm, graceful, and luxu- 
riant lips ; her well-rounded and well-set chin ; her bloom- 
ing cheeks, whose oval lines had resigned a little of their 
uniformity to make way for the facial angles drawn by sen- 
timent and thought, gave her an expression of warmth and 
brightness and vigor which seemed to illuminate the very 
air she breathed ; and she bore her head upon a neck not 
too full nor too much rounded, as the lily is borne upon 
its stem. Nature never made a fairer or more graceful 
form than hers, and while her height made her slightly 
conspicuous among her companions, her movements dis- 
played such elasticity and poise that her very walk through 
the streets was a public benediction. In the eyes of all 
the people of Jotham Fanny Wright had been beautiful 
enough, and as Mrs. Ransom she was looked upon as the 
impersonation of fascinating widowhood ; but her hair was 
a shade too black, her eye was a little too hard, her face 
was slightly too firm and positive, and her motions just a 
bit too determined and decided to win all to love, even 
while they might compel all to obedience. The sharper 
and more ringing tones of Fanny's voice were quite in 
contrast, too, with the mellow notes which flowed so luxu- 
riantly from Clara's throat ; as the crisp assertions of the 
one seemed harsh when compared with the generous and 
kindly and sensible expressions of the other. Seldom has 
a town been adorned and cheered by two such radiant 
flowers, — Fanny as fair as earth can bear, and Clara graced 
with the finer charm of light and air from heaven. Doubt- 



SMALL I-RUITS AND FLOIVERS. 419 

less Fanny's experience in life had endowed her with a 
niaturer cast of worldly wisdom ; but to Clara there natu- 
rally belonged a broad and impressive sagacity and a 
steadiness and quickness of comprehension which inspired 
great confidence and respect even for one so young. For 
both, country life and the customs of rural society had 
done much towards developing that commanding and 
superior position which woman has secured to herself in 
the quiet scenes of life, without laying aside the affection 
of the daughter or the gentleness of the mother or the 
kind attention of the wife. Those who have witnessed the 
calm and reposeful and superior air of the American 
woman in country life will understand thoroughly what 
I mean. It is not an offensive assumption, but a half-shy, 
half-determined, and entirely unequivocal manifestation of 
matronly authority, displayed by a mistress towards her 
lover and a wife towards her husband. 

That Clara was conscious of her beauty there is no 
reason to doubt ; every beautiful woman is. But it is not 
every woman endowed by nature as she was who under- 
stands the responsibilities which a fair and fascinating 
form imposes upon the intellect which inhabits it. She 
had felt this in her intercourse with Dr. Parker and Squire 
Wright, and especially when she was brought in contact 
with the kindly and at the same time way-wise scrutiny 
of Mr. Hopkins. With Charles Ingalls she felt it more 
heavily still, until at last she was possessed by a morbid 
anxiety lest in the rapid development of his intellectual 
powers she might be left by him far in the rear, and might 
become merely a pretty companion for him in his leisure 
hours. She had wit enough to see that his relations to 
the men about him were changing, as he was made their 
confidant and adviser in their most important matters of 
business ; that his understanding of men was quickened 
and modified continually ; and that his capacity to com- 



420 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

prehend his own duties and their necessities was con- 
tinually strengthened. She began to realize, moreover, 
that Jotham was no place for him, and that the time 
would soon come when, in a wider sphere, she would be 
obliged to exert all her powers to fill the measure of his 
demands upon her, who was to be his constant companion 
and friend. She even forgot what a gentle and forgiving 
master a lover ought to be ; and she entirely lost sight 
of the fact that her own blind adoration of Charles might 
be the reason of his blind adoration of herself And so 
she grew anxious and perplexed. Visions of his future 
greatness filled her mind, — though what this greatness 
meant she did not exactly understand. Her humble little 
home, whose charms seemed to be sufficient for Charles 
himself, seemed to grow more and more insignificant daily 
to her eye ; and she turned almost mournfully upon her 
mother, as she fancied the troubles which their future 
splendor might strew along the path of her who was so 
ill prepared for any other life than that she now led. Clara 
did not realize it, — she probably misunderstood herself so 
thoroughly, — but she was in reality filled with an am- 
bition for her lover which quite outshone her love. And 
not this alone. Her ambition for herself was evidently 
roused, and she began to be filled with a painful dread 
lest the time should arrive when to herself and to her 
world it would be evident that in faculties and attainments 
Charles had far outgrown her. And so out of the very 
plenitude of her organization, and out of the abounding 
good fortune of her life, there spread over her heavens a 
dark and heavy cloud which filled her young heart with 
gloom and despair. It was with an unexpected weight 
of sorrow, mingled with pride, therefore, that she saw the 
increase of Charles's duties and responsibilities, and learned 
that he might at any time be called away from Jotham, for 
a season at least, on business which would introduce him 



SMALL FRUITS AND L'LOWERS. 42 1 

at once to a broader field, and would call for the exercise 
of all his highest faculties. And so it was. Squire Wright 
had been employed in an intricate and difficult contest 
over the title to certain lands in Jotham, in which the 
town itself was involved. The case in hand was not of 
large amount, but its decision was likely to be followed by 
long and expensive litigation should the existing titles be 
set aside, and the ownership of the land should be found 
not to vest in the present occupants. The old Squire 
felt too infirm, or too indolent, or too doubtful of his capa- 
city to manage the case in the higher courts of the Com- 
monwealth, and he was quite willing, therefore, to in- 
struct Charles in all the law and the facts, and then to 
send him forth to try his powers among the magnates 
of his profession. And Charles was glad to undertake the 
task. 

It was with a great fluttering of pride and anxiety that 
Clara helped Charles pack his little carpet-bag, which she 
had made for him, and into which his brief was carefully 
stowed, and saw him start for Boston. The parting was 
not very painful, nor was it very demonstrative ; for it 
was to be but for a few days at the longest, and the event 
itself was so full of interest that this alone occupied most 
of their thoughts and feelings. But when Charles was 
gone, this young girl, whom he had left behind in a state 
of unwonted excitement and intensity, began a survey of 
her present life, and a look into the future, which were by 
no means conducive to her happiness or her repose. The 
village life in which she moved, even her dear old home 
itself, lost for an hour their accustomed charm, and she 
began to chafe and fret under her limitations. The domes- 
tic duties which she habitually attended to with great care 
grew tedious and irksome ; the opening spring landscape 
looked cheerless and dismal ; the school-house, far off on 
the hillside, had a. lonely look ; the village spire, which 



422 THE FARM- YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

had been through her life her type of architectural aspira- 
tion, began to grow dwarfish and insignificant. She had 
companions and friends in abundance, but none to whom 
she could turn in her present state of mind. Mrs. Ran- 
som, her refuge in all times of trouble, and her more 
than sister in all the enjoyments of life, and in all that 
mutual exploration of the flowery fields of love through 
which two young confiding female hearts are so happy 
to walk hand in hand, was not just the person for the 
present occasion. Mrs. Ransom's experience with one 
somewhat inferior husband, and her opening promise of 
another, whose course in life had left him slightly tar- 
nished for high, ambitious prospects and designs, had by 
no means prepared her for a genuine sympathy with a 
fresh young girl who knew as yet nothing of blighted 
hopes, or of the ugly scars which evil habits will always 
leave, to remind us that even v^hen laid aside they lie in 
ambush to return at any unfortunate moment to the at- 
tack. To lay her heart open to her mother was impos- 
sible. That estimable woman- had carried a feeble partner 
in her arms through life, and had laid him down to rest, 
and neither th^ labor of the past, nor the comparative ease 
of the present, nor the dull current of her life from the 
beginning, made her a very fit adviser or a very warm 
sympathizer for a young girl, whose aspirations would 
have appeared to her somewhat stiffened and work-worn 
mind as the height of folly. She knew how kind Mr. 
Hopkins was, but she knew, also, that he had no ears for 
a story like hers. Mr. Howe might be a good enough 
spiritual adviser, but not a remarkable counsellor in trials 
like hers ; and Mrs. Howe was too much devoted to the 
inculcation of humility and obedience, as the two great 
Christian virtues, to rise with her to that height whence, 
she could survey all the kingdoms of the world and the 
glory of them. As she recalled the spirit of the village 



SMALL FRUITS AND FLOWERS. 4^3 

life about her, and the modes of Hfe and thought by which 
she had been surrounded from her childhood, she was 
surprised to find how unequal to her wants they were. 
She could not analyze this feeling, — she was not well 
enough informed to understand it, but she was sensible 
and keen enough to know and feel that somewhere in the 
world there must be a sphere in which her restless mind 
could find room for action, and in which her heart could 
find a response. The associations and teachings of the 
church had heretofore been a source of great pleasure and 
strength and consolation to her, — a heavenly retreat in 
which, even as a child, she had found a gentle and myste- 
rious elevation. But now she remembered the severity of 
the theology she had heard there, and the cold formality 
with which the ordinances had been administered, and 
she hid her face in her hands, and pressed her eyes into 
total darkness, with a feeling of despair that even the 
glory of that sacred tabernacle was departing. Beneath 
the gentle devotion of the place she now discerned a 
severe dogmatic belief, and a shadow of uncharitableness, 
which wounded instead of soothing her ; and she wondered 
whither the humanity which she needed now had fled. 
She pictured to herself the amount of taste and culture by 
which she was surrounded, and she wondered why it was 
that the adornments of life and its accomplishments there 
seemed so commonplace. That there was a better the- 
ology and a more elegant association somewhere, she now 
felt confident; not because she was familiar with either, but 
because her aspirations and ambition demanded something 
more than she now possessed. That all this was unwise, 
and even weak and foolish, she felt inwardly conscious ; 
but she could not avoid it, and so she toiled on until she 
became uneasy and dissatisfied and discontented through 
ignorance and false desires. Had she known more of the 
world she would have risen "superior to her pain." Had 



4^4 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOT HAM. 

she traversed the paths which promised her so much 
peace, she would have understood how thorny they often 
are. Had she been more famihar with all the various 
circumstances of life, she would have realized how in- 
different a triumphant soul must be to surrounding acci- 
dents, and of how little value to a struggling heart are 
the material comforts and embellishments of life. But all 
this she did not know. And so during Charles's absence 
she made herself quite unhappy, as many a maiden had 
done before over imaginary evils and trials which time 
and the experiences of life would surely remove from her 
mind. 

While Clara was groping about alone in this dark and 
dismal reverie, Mr. Hopkins was preparing for an un- 
usually interesting assembly at his house, under the aus- 
pices of the Club. He found that the interest of the 
women of the village was increasing in the discussions, 
and he found also that the usual curiosity of the wives and 
daughters about the proceedings in the conclaves of hus- 
bands and fathers was beginning to be severely exercised ; 
and, as he was not one of those who believe that every 
step that woman takes towards practical service in life, 
and her share of social and civil duties and rights and 
responsibilities, is a step towards anarchy and her own 
destruction, he made up his mind to request every mem- 
ber of the Club to bring his wife or daughter to the next 
meeting, while he reserved to himself the pleasure of in- 
viting those who had no husbands, and such daughters as 
had no fathers. It was therefore at a novel and peculiarly 
.agreeable assembling of the Club, in which the members 
seemed to have brushed and arranged themselves with 
unusual care, as if conscious of the decorous deportment 
which woman had a right to claim of them, that John 
Thomas announced for discussion the subject of 



SMALL FRUITS AND FLOWERS. 425 

SMALL FRUITS. 

Mr. Hopkins being determined that the female portion 
of his audience should listen under his own roof to his 
own voice, before they had an opportunity to open their 
ears to the wisdom of any of his associates, proceeded to 
draw from his desk what he declared were the manuscript 
sheets of a work known as " The Farmer's Book," which 
he said some of his young agricultural friends were pre- 
paring for future publication, and to read therefrom some 
excellent remarks upon the cultivation of small fruits. 

"The Strawberry" said the writer, " is the most delicious and 
widely cultivated of the small fruits, and is not only desirable 
in every garden, but can be profitably raised for market in the 
vicinity of every village, borough, or city. It flourishes natu- 
rally on sandy loam, but any soil can be made suitable for it. 
Muck and peat mixed with a clay soil and enriched with ma- 
nure will make a good soil for most varieties. The soil, what- 
ever it is, should be deejoly trenched and manured liberally. 
The roots of the strawberry are fine, and the soil should be 
thoroughly pulverized and the manure mingled with the soil. 
The same manures and composts recommended for other crops 
are required for this, and should be applied without stint. 

" North of New York we think spring planting is preferable, 
but where fall planting will succeed it is better. The time to 
plant is just after the crop is gathered. If the plants are to be 
immediately replnnted, and a portion of the earth removed with 
them, the work can be done in the fall. When plants are taken 
up in the spring, the dead leaves should be removed. When 
the roots are bared, it is well to clip off one half their length 
with shears before planting. It is also well to puddle the roots 
in such cases. This is done by mixing earth and water and 
dipping in the roots. When the earth is taken up with the 
plants of course a hole must be made large enough to receive 
earth and all ; the roots are thus left in their natural position ; 
but when the roots are bare they can be forced into a very 
small hole, and will often grow in it. But a much more certain 



426 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

and profitable course is to make a hole large enough to spread 
out the roots. In either case the crown of the plant should 
never be set below the level of the surface. A cloudy day is 
the best for planting. The systems of cultivation and renewal 
are various. The first is the shiftless system^ by which the plants 
are set out and allowed to grow until the ground is covered 
■with vines, weeds, and grass, with no fruit. 

" The alternate strip system is on some accounts the very best. 
Strike out rows three feet apart and set the plants about a foot 
apart in the row. Let all the runners on one side of the rows 
grow and take root, while all on the other side are cut off. Thus 
•every alternate strip of three feet will be covered with vines which 
will give a crop of berries, while the bare strip will serve as an 
alley for the pickers. After the crop is over dig up the alley, 
and the next season allow the runners to cover and take root 
in it. After this season's crop is gathered, dig in the old plants, 
and so on, digging up on one side each year. At the time of 
setting the plants, and at each annual digging, a liberal coating 
of manure should be dug in. 

"The biennial system has of late years been popular, and con- 
sists in planting in beds, three rows, eighteen inches apart each 
way, and paths two feet wide. Hoe the plants, weed faithfully, 
let the runners grow, and after the bed has produced two crops 
dig or plough it up, and plant in a new place. 

" 'Ihe annual system is the same, except that the plants are 
put a little nearer together, cultivated the first season, bear the 
second, and are then ploughed or dug under. When pistillate 
varieties are planted, some other varieties must be planted in 
alternate rows to fertilize them. One row of staminate to four 
of pistillate is sufficient. In most parts of the country north of 
New York City winter protection is beneficial. 

" The most successful cultivators cover their plants. Straw, 
hay, or leaves to the depth of two inches is sufficient. Spent 
hops, pine leaves, and salt meadow hay are still better. A 
portion of the mulch may be left on in the spring, which will 
shade the roots, retain the moisture, and keep the fruit clean. 

" Mulching of some sort through the fruiting season is a great 
advantage." 



SMALL FRLITS AND FLUlVERS. 427 

" And," said Mr. Hopkins, " I have found that a top- 
dressing of ashes in the spring will increase the quantity 
and improve the quality of the fruit." 

"The varieties we recommend for cultivation are the Agri- 
culturist, Boston Pine, Brooklyn Scarlet, Crimson Cone, Hovey's 
Seedling, Lady Finger, Lennig's White, McAvoy's Superior, 
New Jersey Scarlet, Wilson's i\lbany, and the Triomphe de Gand. 

" Kaspbcnii's and Blackberries are mostly propagated by suck- 
ers or shoots growing from the roots. A rich, moist soil is best; 
if too dry or sandy, apply swamp muck; but a full crop of the 
raspberry every season cannot be expected from a gravelly or 
sandy soil. If tlie soil be deeply trenched when first planted, 
a plantation of either of these berries will continue in bearing 
five or six years, when they should be renewed, if the crop 
begins to be diminished. I^runing should be done early in the 
spring, or in the fall immediately after fruiting. It consists in 
cutting out the old wood, leaving only the last season's growth, 
and cutting that back three or four feet and fastening to stakes 
or trellis. The suckers should all be taken up, whether wanted 
for planting or not. When the vines grow vigoroush', summer 
l)runing becomes necessary. The terminal shoots should be 
])inched off about the last of August, and if thev continue to 
grow should be i)inched off again when they have grown twelve 
inches more. Winter protection is often given with great ad- 
vantage. Bend down the canes, throw on dirt enough to hold 
them, then go through with a plough on each side, and turn a 
furrow slice over them. An acre can be covered at an expense 
of not more than sixteen dollars. The Philadelphia, Black Cap, 
American Black, American White Cap, Surprise, and the Ant- 
werp are among the tried varieties of the raspberry ; and the 
Lawton, Kittanning, Dorchester. New Rochelle, and Wilson's 
Early are hardy, productive, and marketable blackberries. 

" The cultivation of these fruits in the vicinity of large cities 
will never fail to be profitable. 

" The Ciiri-a7it and Gooseberry are propagated by cuttings so 
readily that no other mode will be described. Cuttings should 
be of ripe wood, of recent growth, cut off in the fall. Make 



428 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

the cuttings six inches long, cutting smooth just at the base of 
a bud, and planted as in the case of grape cuttings. The cur- 
rant had best be planted in the fall, and the gooseberry in the 
spring. A deep, rich soil, deeply trenched and heavily manured, 
is necessary if the most profitable crop is desired. The bushes 
will grow almost anywhere, but will not produce regular and 
abundant crops of the largest and best fruit unless manured 
and kept free from weeds, and the ground kept mellow or 
mulched through the summer. These remarks apply equally 
well to the blackberry and raspberry. 

" The most common mode of pruning and training is none at 
all ; but a more profitable mode is to cut out all dead wood, all 
wood that has borne for two or three years, and all shoots and 
suckers that crowd the growth. Six large, vigorous shoots will 
produce more and larger fruit than double that number of weak 
and slender ones. The black currant is trained as an upright 
with an open head. The gooseberry is also sometimes trained 
in this manner ; it is accomplished by rubbing off the lower 
buds on the stem. The most successful varieties of the currant 
are the Deseret, American Black, Buist's, Cherry, Dana's White, 
Red Dutch, Victoria, White Grape, White Dutch, and White 
Florence. The Cluster, Mountain Seedling, Downing, and 
Houghton's Seedling are the only varieties of the gooseberry 
proved to be worthy of cultivation." 

"And now," said Mr. Hopkins, "having read what of 
this manuscript relates to small fruits, allow me to read 
as appropriate to that portion of my audience who have 
for the first time, and I trust not for the last, honored us 
with their presence this evening, some additional remarks 
upon the subject of Flower Culture." 

" Flower culture," this writer observes, " will be confined to 
the farmer's wife and family; but the farmer, if he be a true 
lover of nature, will be always ready to lend a patch of ground 
and an occasional hour with the hoe or spade to the flower- 
garden ; himself and. his family will be better for the sight of 
flowers, and they will be more closely attached to the home 



SMALL FRUITS AALJ FLOWERS. 429 

thus beautified. We can give but a few brief plain directions 
for fiower culture. 

•'The best soil for the cultivation of flowers is a nii.xture of 
loam, peat, leaf-mould, and sand. If peat cannot be had, de- 
cayed turf can be used in its stead. Leaf-mould can always be 
had in the country by covering a pile of leaves with earth in 
the fall, and letting them rot for a year. Prepare a pile every 
fall, and you will have a constant supply of the most valuable 
manure for your flower-garden, vineyard, or nursery. The chil- 
dren should be encouraged to gather all the leaves possible in 
the fall for these purposes. 

" So small a space as is occupied by the flower-garden should 
be spaded, hoed, and raked, until it is thoroughly pulverized to 
the depth of eighteen to twenty-four inches. Flower-seeds 
should not be planted until the earth begins to be warm. If 
the soil tends to be too cold and heavy, add sand to it. One 
great mistake in planting flower-seeds is to plant too early and 
too deep, so that the seeds never feel the warmth of the sun, 
and decay without germinating. No definite rule can be given 
with regard to the depth of planting all seeds, but the very 
small seeds should be sown on the surface, and a little finely 
pulverized earth sifted over them and pressed gently with a 
board. Seeds of the size of the coxcomb and amaranth should 
be planted a little deeper; balsams, asters, etc., from one quar- 
ter to a half an inch in depth ; sweet-peas, four-o'clocks, 
lupines, morning-glories, etc , from one half to one inch deep. 
The ground should be kept rnoist by light sprinklings, and as 
soon as the tender plants appear they should be shaded from 
the direct rays of the midday sun until they are well rooted. 
All plants should be kept clear of weeds, and the ground fre- 
quently stirred about their roots. First on the list of flowers 
stands the rose. To produce the most perfect roses, prepare a 
trench, or, if for one vine, a hole two and a half feet deep, fill- 
ing the bottom with broken bricks, crockery, etc., for drainage, 
and the balance with an even mixture of earth and manure. 
Roses are best planted in the fall, but as far north as the New 
England States the planting of all tender varieties must be 



4o« THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

delayed until spring. New plants are obtained by layering, as 
directed for the grape, or by cuttings ; or, as in many cases, by 
taking up and dividing the roots of a growing plant. In plant- 
ing, the nicest care should be observed in placing the roots. 
When planted in the fall they will usually be benefited by a 
winter covering of leaves or stable litter. Cut out all old and 
decayed wood in the spring. One gardener of our acquaintance 
recommends two hundred different varieties of the rose for gen- 
eral cultivation. The only remark we shall make in regard to 
its selection is, select a succession of varieties that will bloom 
through several months, and as far as may be select different 
colors, from that most beautiful of all roses, the white rose, to 
the dark purple, sometimes called the black rose. 

" The flowering almond is a hardy shrub, loaded in blossoming 
time- with pretty pink flowers ; it is easily cultivated from suck- 
ers or layers. The syringa should be grown in every yard, both 
for its pure white blossoms and its fragrance. It will grow from 
cuttings in any good garden soil. The lilac, spirea, woodbine, 
and honeysuckle are all worthy of general cultivation, which can 
readily be done, as they require but little care if properly 
planted in the beginning. The gladiolus, dahlia, tulip, and like 
flowers require more care, as the bulbs must be taken up in the 
fall and replanted in the spring ; but their beauty warrants the 
use of some time that might otherwise be wasted. The bulbs 
are taken up as soon as the frost touches the plant, and kept 
dry on a shelf in a cool place, or by packing in dry sand ; and 
about the first of May should be brought out and sprouted in a 
warm spot, when the tubers should be divided. Each tuber that 
has a bud will bear a plant. They should be planted out in 
groups three and a half inches deep, and a stake driven beside 
them to which they should be trained. 

" The peony is hardy, and requires only to be covered with 
straw during the winter to put forth vigorously on the first 
approach of spring. The althea, or hollyhock, is a neglected 
but beautiful plant, — we think more desirable than the dahlia. 
The seed should be sown in May, one half an inch deep, and 
when the plants have put out five or six leaves they should be 



SMALL FRUITS AND L' LOWERS. 43 I 

transplanted. By sowing and planting the seed of the double 
varieties, a mass of beautiful flowers of many colors is produced 
every season. China-asters are to be highly recommended. 
The ground for these, as well as for all flowers, should be dug 
deep and well manured. They are sown in beds from the ist to 
the loth of May, and come into bloom in August. The verbena 
is the most beautiful of all garden-flowers for massing in beds ; 
it is, however, difficult to keep through the winter. We can 
only name a few of the many plants included in the lists of nurs- 
ery-men and florists ; but it is well not to be deceived by high- 
sounding names into buying common and inferior plants. 
There are enough well-known plants like those we have men- 
tioned to make a little paradise around every home." 

Mr. Hopkins concluded his reading, and the conversa- 
tion became general. Clara had watched the faces of the 
crowd, all her friends and neighbors, and as they bright- 
ened under the description of the familiar flowers, known 
since their childhood, she wondered how she could possi- 
bly have been for a moment estranged from any one of 
them. They all seemed sufficient for her now ! The tears 
came into her eyes as she remembered all their kindnesses 
to her in her humble home, and to those whom she had 
loved there. And she hid her face to hide her emotion, 
as Mr. Hopkins enumerated those flowers which she had 
seen around her father's door, — the white rose whose 
budding forth he had watched with such childlike interest 
day by day in the spring-time, until his eye closed in death, 
and he left the buds just opening there for her to love and 
watch, — the sweet-pea and the mignonette which her 
mother planted for her, and which Charles bestowed upon 
her as his sweetest and most appropriate gift, — and the 
flaunting peony and the dainty hollyhock, and the dahlia 
m its autumnal pride. And as the last words of Mr. Hop- 
kins, "to make a little paradise around every home," 
reached her ears, she slid quietly out at the door, and, re- 



43- THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

joicing in the darkness which enveloped her, sobbed along 
the pathway to that spot which it seemed now as if no 
jDrosperity could eclipse and no misfortune could destroy. 
Glad was she to find herself there a child once more ; and, 
falling on her knees by the side of her pure white bed, she 
thanked' God for that home, for the memory of her father, 
for the affection of her mother, for the love of him who 
was more to her than father or mother combined, and 
prayed that never again might she dream that life had 
any joys brighter than those which all the endearments 
of home can give, and no promises more radiant than 
those which are made by the God and Father who meets 
us there. And she fell asleep to dream of him who was 
far away. 

" She went home to look after her mother," said Mrs. 
Thomas, as the Club adjourned, and Mr. Hopkins found 
that Clara had vanished. 



FRUir CULTURE. 433 



TWENTY-EIGHTH MEETING. 

FRUIT CULTURE. 

CHARLES INGALLS'S LETTER TO CLARA. — HIS CITY LIFE. — BARNES 
TELLS ALL ABOUT FRUIT-TREES. — FESTUS COMES IN. 

1 HE proverbial delays of the law had detained Charles 
Ingalls in the city much longer than he had anticipated, 
and really much longer than he desired. Not that time 
hung heavy on his hands, for he had a power of concen- 
trating his mind upon the work in which it was engaged 
with such intensity that the hours flew by more rapidly 
than they could be counted ; but city life was somewhat 
irksome to him, accustomed as he was to the ease and 
quietness of the country ; and the showy and brilliant 
entertainments which were offered to him on every hand, 
as the relaxation of his leisure moments, seemed very cold 
and tasteless when compared with the sweet and rosy 
society which he found in the humble abode of the Widow 
Bell. He was not fond of letter-writing, but there is still 
in existence a letter which he wrote to Clara during his 
absence, which sets forth so well his course of life and his 
mental condition, that I am glad to be able to insert it 
here. It is as follows: — 

Boston, April 13, 18 — . 
My DEAREST Clara : I have now been many days away, 
and, although intensely occupied by my work, I cannot longer 
bear the thought that I have not, as yet, dedicated an hour 
of my absence to one good, long, elaborate, and affectionate let- 
ter to you. I know you will not attribute this to indifference, 
but to that desperate way I have of plunging into any work 
27 



434 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

which is on my hands, and forgetting that I love anybody or 
that anybody loves me. I have thoroughly enjoyed myself in 
this new sphere to which I have been introduced by the busi- 
ness placed in my hands by Squire Wright. You know I can- 
not pretend to be a lawyer of extensive reading ; but I have 
managed in spite of this to secure a considerable reputation by 
my thorough and intimate knowledge of the matter in which 
I am employed. I have not yet forgotten a fact, nor have I 
broken down on any point of law involved in the case. Of all 
other law I take great pains to preserve a dignified silence. 
With the associations into which I am brought by my profes- 
sion on this broader field I am delighted. The mean men in 
the law are too mean for endurance, and they find it so impossi- 
ble to conceal their meanness in the profession which they have 
chosen, that everybody knows and sees it ; but the great and 
magnanimous ones are splendid enough to make one forget 
the bad, and remember only the good. Mr. Fenton, to whom 
Squire Wright gave me letters of introduction, and with whom 
I am associated, stands at the head of his profession here, and 
a delightful man he is ; as familiar with the law and all its great 
principles as I am with a mere point of discussion in our Club, 
and as thoroughly informed on all the thought and literature of 
the times as if he were a roving scholar. He is very kind to 
me ; takes me to his house to dine, and he has a lovely daugh- 
ter ; has introduced me to his club, a body of the best-educated 
gentlemen in the city : has offered me the use of his library on 
all occasions ; has invited some of the young members of the 
bar to meet me at his house ; and suggested the other day that 
perhaps I might like to enter into a partnership with him, 
should I ever determine to come to the city for a permanent 
settlement. Miss Mary, who heard the suggestion, remarked 
that she thought her father would be very fortunate to secure 
such assistance. You may be sure, Clara, I blushed. 

The excitement of city life, its temptations and its promises, 
have already led me to consider in an anxious manner the path 
which I am to travel through life. It has never occurred to me 
until now that anything more than a rural life with its repose 
and its limitations would ever come within my reach. 



FRUIT CULTURE. 435 

Rut my success in this my first attempt to perform uiy part im 
the midst of active and condensed and vigorous life has led me 
to believe thaf I may possibly accomplish something for my 
own honor and for the benefit of mankind. I hope you will 
agree with me in this, and that your intelligent sympathy and 
generous encouragement will go with me in all my endeavors 
in this direction. I do not approach or contemplate the work 
with confidence or assurance. And I assure you my mind 
dwells continually on the little office sheltered under the trees 
of Jotham, on the lake and the hillside, on the shady and grass- 
grown lanes, on the broad farms and hospitable farm-houses^ 
on the placid faces of John Thomas and his wife, on the tragic 
and awful fate of Peter Ilsley, on the old school-house, the 
meeting-house with its rolling choruses of sacred music, and its 
sermons filled with pious faith, and on the abounding personal 
interest which makes society in Jotham a brotherhood of men. 
And I am sure that no success, amidst the trials of active life, 
w'ill ever wean us away from the charming scenes in which you 
and I have walked together, and whose memory always outlives 
the artificial charms which man creates to make the course of 
life desirable, and its close quiet and peaceful. 

But why should I be anxious or complain. I have been pro- 
vided with a wealth of early association given to but few. The 
morning thus far has been radiant, and I must be brave and 
thankful. As I wandered through the delightful and fascinating 
library of Mr. Fenton, the other day, my eye fell upon that 
charming poem of which you and I have heard so much, in 
which the story of Festus and his Clara is so sweetly and di- 
vinely told. And I opened to that rosy scene in the garden. 
and read how Clara says : — 

" Shall we ever live 
And love as now ?" 
Festus. "Ay, live I fear we must." 
Clara. " And love ; because we then are happiest. 

We shall lack nothing, having love ; and we. 
We must be happy everywhere ; we two." 

And I was filled with hope and courage for my opening life, 



436 THE FARM- YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

which I pray may be preserved from temptation, and guided by 
Divine light through all trial and darkness, and led by a Divine 
hand along all the dizzy heights of worldly prosperity. 

How gladly, my dear Clara, would I return home. And so I 
send love to your mother, and the old Squire, and Mr. Hopkins, 
and Mr. Howe, and Dr. Parker, and the Club, and Fanny, 

and am 

Your own affectionate 

Charles. 

Clara read this letter over and over again, sometimes 
with doubt and fear, but in the end with hope and confi- 
dence. It was not exactly such a letter as she expected 
from Charles. There was more of it, and less of it, than 
she anticipated. She was not prepared for quite so much 
wisdom, and she hoped for a little more about love. The 
■evident satisfaction with which Charles was moving among 
his new acquaintances was a source of slight annoyance to 
her ; and the praises bestowed by him on Mr. Fenton's 
lovely daughter Mary caused a momentary pang in her 
heart, which was not entirely removed until the closing 
sentences of the letter restored her faith and confidence. 
She came to the conclusion that Jotham without Charles 
was a very stupid place, and that Boston was a very dan- 
gerous place for a young man like him. She wrote in 
reply to his delightful letter, congratulating him on his 
success, and begging him to return home as soon as pos- 
sible. 

Charles's absence from Jotham was by no means agree- 
able to the inhabitants of that cheerful and neighborly com- 
munity, but it was not quite fatal to their enjoyments. 
The singing-parties, and the quilting-bees, and the tea- 
fights, and sewing-circles went on as usual, and the Club 
held its regular meeting and tried to get on without the 
aid of the young lawyer, whose intelligence in discussing 
agricultural questions was quite surprising to those who 



FRUIT CULTURE. A,IJ 

had no faith ia any information except that derived from 
experience and observation. The subject selected for de- 
bate was Fruit Culture, and it was opened by Phineas 
Barnes, who had thus far occupied but little time of the 
Club, and whose orchard, running far away in the rear of 
his blacksmith's shop, was the admiration of all beholders, 
and was sometimes claimed to be a source of great profit 
by the owner. He had evidently prepared his essay with 
great care. 

MR. BARNES'S ESSAY ON FRUIT. 

The raising of fruit has become a difficult, uncertain, and 
troublesome business. The obstacles lying in the way of the 
fruit-grower have increased very rapidly within the last few 
years. I have not forgotten the thrifty orchards of my child- 
hood and youth. Apples grew almost without cultivation, and 
were so abundant, that, but for the large manufacture of, and 
the general demand for cider, we should have been unable to 
dispose of one half our crop. Peaches were large and luscious. 
Pears were not common, and had reached no degree of perfec- 
tion. But plums were as easily grown as potatoes ; and the 
plum-tree was a common ornament in the rear of the house, 
around the ash-heap and the sink-spout. But now everything 
of this kind has changed. The apple has lost its size and shape, 
and attractive appearance, in this region at least ; the peach 
hardly reaches maturity; the plum is almost unknown ; and the 
pear alone seems to defy all adverse influences, and to increase 
in quantity, size, and variety. The uncertainty which attends 
fruit-growing has led me to doubt sometimes, in spite of myself, 
with regard to the profit of its cultivation. And I have been 
half inclined to advise my fellow-farmers to wait until the dis- 
eases and injurious insects had vanished, before entering upon 
a new era of planting orchards of any kind. At any rate, I have 
become satisfied that the most convenient and fertile lands of 
the farm should not be devoted to this business. In former 
days the fields adjoining the farm-buildings were usually occu- 



438 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOFHAM. 

pied by fruit-trees, and it was believed, and perhaps with good 
reason, that they could not be used for a better purpose. 

But it is not so now. Almost every crop known to the farmer, 
such as grain, roots, grass, and garden vegetables, is more prof- 
itable year after year than fruit. And we have all discovered 
that, for convenience, economy, and profit, the lands lying near 
the stable and the manure heap are those to which we should 
apply our most careful cultivation ; while the farther removed, 
lighter, and less accessible lands can be used for the orchard 
and the nursery and the fruit-garden. It is well known to you 
here that I have devoted a great deal of time to my orchard, 
and that its condition is much admired. But it has, I am sorry 
to say, not been steadily profitable. I set it out twenty years 
ago, and have found the care of it a very good employment for 
jny leisure hours. Besides, I could not cultivate the land for 
any other purpose. My trade keeps me busy, and I have had 
my orchard for an amusement. To raise market crops or com- 
mon farm crops was to me impossible. I had no time for this. 
But I found I could take care of trees, and so I planted them. 
In all this twenty years 1 have had but one year of a good crop, 
and at no time have I been able to raise any other crop on the 
land for fear of spoiling the trees. The conflict I have had 
Avith canker-worms and caterpillars has been tremendous. I 
have not been discouraged, ho.wever, and have rather enjoyed 
the exercise ; but I have had but little fruit and small pay. 

If we will plant orchards, the question of locality is one of 
great importance. A sheltered spot is usually the best. Fruit- 
trees do not bear well the effects of high winds, and should be 
protected against them. Low lands, which are liable to late 
spring and early autumnal frosts, should also be avoided ; and 
as a general rule an elevated spot with a dry, firm soil should 
be selected, — a soil especially free from stagnant water. The 
branches of a fruit-tree are to be protected from frosts and 
violent winds ; but still more should the roots be protected from 
a cold, wet subsoil. I suppose the best soil for orchards, the 
locality being favorable, is a sandy loam with a sandy clay sub- 
soil ; or a shelly spot filled with disintegrated rock. The fruit- 



FRUIT CULTURE. 



439 



tree requires a slow growth, in which every part is well matured, 
and in which the tendency should rather be to fruitfulness than 
to wood and foliage. For an apple orchard the soil I have 
described is especially adapted and appropriate. And it is for- 
tunate, both for the tree and the cultivator, that such soil is very 




THE OKCHARD. 



commonly found among ledges or on hillsides, where the culti- 
vation of farm crops would be difficult, and in some cases 
impossible. I would advise taking such outlying land as I 
have described for orchards, and keeping the good and inly- 
ing lands for grain, roots, grass, and market-garden crops. Soil 
abounding in lime is always well adapted to the growing of 
fruit. 

As a general rule, the soil in which the apple thrives is con- 
genial to the i^ear and the peach. The plum and the quince, 
however, require a stiffer, more clayey, and moister soil. The 
soil, when selected, should be thoroughly drained if it appears 
necessary, and thoroughly ploughed and subsoiled the season 
before the trees are planted. The land should be fertilized 
with well-rotted barn-yard manure, mixed with the soil at the 
rate of about si.x cords to the acre. This manure may be com- 
posted with muck to advantage. Apply, just before setting the 
trees, an abundance of wood-ashes, say a hundred bushels to 
the acre, or fifty bushels of oyster-shell lime if ashes cannot be 
readily obtained. After this avoid the use of heavy nitroge- 
nous manures, and, confining yourself to bones and ashes, apply 



440 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

your fertilizers to the surface of the soil. A liyht top-dressing 
of salt will be useful. A good adviser at this point says : " Your 
trees once set (and he who sets twenty trees per day as they 
should be set, with each root in its natural position, and the 
earth pressed firmly around its trunk, but no higher than as it 
originally grew, is a faithful, efficient worker), I would cultivate 
the land for the trees' sake, growing crops successively of ruta- 
bagas, carrots, beets, and early potatoes, but no grain whatever, 
for six or seven years, disturbing the roots of the trees as little 
as may be, and guarding their trunks from tug or trace or whiffle- 
tree, by three stakes set firmly in the ground, about each tree, 
not so near as to preclude constant cultivation with the hoe, 
inside as well as outside of the stakes, so as to let no weed ma- 
ture in the field. Apply from year to year wtll-rotted compost 
to the field, in quantity sufficient fully to counterbalance the 
annual abstraction of your crops. Make it a law inflexible 
and relentless that no animal shall be let into this orchard to 
forage, or for any purpose whatever but to draw on manures, to 
till the soil, or to draw away the crops. Thus until the first 
blossoms begin to appear on the trees ; then lay down to grass 
without grain, unless it be a crop of rye or oats to be cut and 
carried off for feed when not more than half grown, leaving the 
ground to the young grass. Let the grass be mowed for the 
next two or three years, and thenceforward devote it to the 
pasturage of swine ; mowing over it with a scythe once or twice 
each summer to clear it of weeds, and taking out the swine a 
few days before beginning to gather the apples, but putting 
them back again the day after the harvest is completed. Let 
the swine be sufficiently numerous and hungry to eat every 
apple that falls within a few hours after it is dropped, and to 
insure their rooting out every grub or worm that burrows in 
the earth beneath the trees, ready to spring up and apply him- 
self to mischief at the very season when you could best 
excuse his absence. I do not commend this as all, or nearly 
all, that should be done in resistance to the pest of insect 
ravage; but I begin with the hog, as the orchardist's readi- 
est, cheapest, most effective ally or servitor in the warfare he 



FRUIT CULTURE. 441 

is doomed unceasingly to urge against tlie spoilers of his 
heritage." 

I have found that trees should be set about twenty-five feet 
apart. This will not allow them to reach a great growth or 
perhaps to live a long life. But we should remember that an 
apple-tree is of no real value when it begins to decay, and that 
it cannot be expected to bear a profitable crop through a long 
series of years. One of the best orchards I have e\'er seen 
stands on a hillside exposed to all the winds which blow across 
Lake Champlain, and standing so thickly together that the sun- 
light never reaches the ground beneath the branches. The 
trees appear to protect and nurse each other. I do not suppose 
they will reach a great age ; but this is not desirable when we 
remember that a fruit-tree, an apple-tree at least, seldom bears 
any amount of fruit after it is forty years old. I am in favor^ 
then, of thickly planted, well-cultivated, short-lived orchards. 
Never attempt to rejuvenate an old orchard. It is time and 
money wasted. The greatest care should be taken in both top 
and root pruning. The shape of an apple-tree should be like 
that of a vase, and the inside of the tree should be kept as open 
as possible. The lower limbs should be about six feet from the 
ground, and the upper limbs should not be allowed to stretch 
high up into the air, where they will be exposed to all the rack- 
ing and wrenching of the winds. The pruning of the roots 
should only be adopted when the growth of wood is too luxuri- 
ant, and the tree is disinclined to bear fruit. The best mode of 
performing this is to dig a trench around the tree about as far 
from the trunk as the branches extend, or if the trees are thickly 
planted, dig cross trenches between the rows, cutting off all the 
smalt roots that appear, and filling the trench with well-ro;ted 
and composted manure, or with muck with a large mixture of 
lime. In this way, a barren orchard can often be brought into 
most luxuriant bearing. 

I have thus sjjoken of the selection and preparation of the 
soil for an orchard, the planting and pruning and fertilizing 
of the trees, and of the liest mode of securing an ample yield 
of fruit. I do not think it necessarv to consider the modes of 



442 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

grafting, — for I have always found that no description of this 
work was adequate to make an expert in the business. Practice 
alone will make a perfect grafter ; and practice alone will teach 
a grafter what is the best method of setting the scion and cov- 
ering the end of the limb into which it is inserted. 

Many attempts have been made to bring barren and worthless 
trees into bearing. One of the best is thus described by R. L. 
Pell, Esq., a most experienced and successful fruit-grower. He 
says : " For several years past I have been experimenting at the 
apple, having an orchard of 2,000 bearing Newtown Pippin 
trees. Three years ago, in April, I scraped all the rough bark 
from the stems, washed all the trunks and limbs within reach 
with soft soap, and trimmed out all the branches that crossed 
each other. In the latter part of June I slit the bark by run- 
ning a sharp-pointed knife from the ground to the first set of 
limbs. In July I placed one peck of oyster-shell lime under 
each tree, leaving it piled about the trunk until November, 
when it was dug in thoroughly. The following year I collected 
from these trees 1,700 barrels of fruit for the market, besides 
cider apples. The trees were then manured with stable manure, 
composted, and the succeeding autumn they were again loaded 
with fruit, while the trees not so treated were quite barren." 

AVith regard to pruning, one careful observer tells me that 
"every apple-tree should be pruned each year of its life; that is, 
it should be carefully examined, with intent to prune if that be 
found necessary. It should be pruned with a careful eye to 
giving it the proper shape, which, from the point where it first 
forks upward, should be that of a teacup, very nearly. I have 
seen young trees so malformed that they could rarely, if ever, 
tear fruit enough to render them profitable. And the pruning 
should be so carefully, and judiciously done from the outset that 
no wood two years old should be ever cut away. With old, mal- 
formed, diseased, worm-eaten, decaying trees, the best must be 
done that can be ; but he who, pruning a tree that he set and 
has hitherto cared for, finds himself obliged to cut off a limb 
thicker than his thumb, may justly suspect himself of lacking a 
masterv of the art of fruit-gfrowins:." 



FRUIT CULTURE. 443 

The gathering of the apples is pirl of the business of orchard 
culture which should never be carelessly or roughly done. Mr. 
Copeland has laid down some excellent directions for this busi- 
ness, w hich I will read to the Club. He says : " The first of 
the month (October) overhaul the stock of barrels, and if the 
number is deficient purchase some at once ; be sure there are 
enough heads and hoops. When all is ready begin to gather 
the fruit as soon as ripe, and by no means wait until hard frosts 
set in ; the slightest skim of ice on standing water should stim- 
ulate the greatest exertions. It is very true that the leaves of 
the trees protect the fruit against the frost, but it is not all pro- 
tected in this way, and if frozen, however slightly, it is likely to 
decay very rapidly. Apples when ripe readily come off in the 
hand if gently turned round, and should be left on the tree 
until they will do so, unless the near approach of winter renders 
immediate gathering necessary. When the fruit is ready for 
picking, carry ladders of different lengths into the orchard, so 
as to prevent any necessity for beating or shaking off the fruit. 
Clear some place on the ground large enough for a heap wdiich 
will fill several barrels ; cover this space with dry straw or old 
h^y. Fasten a hook of iron or wood to the handle of each bas- 
ket, that it may be hung on the tree or ladder, so as to leave 
both hands free. Let your pickers understand that it is a fixed 
law that every apple, small or large, is to be picked by hand. 
Every basket as it is filled must be carefully emptied at the 
appointed place, by being laid on its side and slowly turned 
that no apple may be bruised. It facilitates this labor and 
insures greater care in handling to have one person with an 
extra basket constantly employed in exchanging the full baskets 
of the pickers for the empty ones. When one pile of fruit is 
large enough make another. There will ]Drobably be a small 
portion of the fruit which cannot be reached by the hand ; this 
must be shaken down after the hand-gathering is done, piled 
separately, and used or sold as soon as possible. When the 
day's work is drawing to a close, cover the heaps with straw, 
ha)^, or hay-covers for the night, and do the same on wet days. 
Leave the fruit for several days, according to the weather, to 



444 THE FARM-YARD ^CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

cool and dry. AVhen dried enough, have the barre's carried 
into the fields and the apples put into them by hand, carefully 
assorted, according to quality. Let one man fill the barrels as 
full as possible without crowding, and lay on the heads, which 
another person should fasten in firmly. When this is done, the 
carts are to be sent out and the barrels lifted into them. Roll 
them as little as possible ; carry them into the fruit-room, where 
they may stand on end or be piled on each other. If they must 
be left out through the night or in wet weather, lay them on 
their sides, and pile them up so as to shed rain, and cover the 
upper ones with boards." 

I know you will ask me, Mr. President, what varieties I prefer 
and what I have in my orchard. If I were raising apples solely 
for the market, I should find out the apple best suited to my 
soil and locality, and I should confine myself to that, whether it 
be the Baldwin, the Spitzenburg, the Hubbardston, or the 
Russet. By so doing you make a reputation and secure a mar- 
ket. But usually I should select several varieties, such as will 
give me a supply through the many months during which the 
apple comes to maturity, and can be kept. Of the early varie- 
ties the best are the Early Harvest, Red Astrachan, Golden 
Sweet, Williams' Favorite, Sops o' Wine, Porter, and Early Joe. 
Later in the season I should select the Gravenstein, P\all Pip- 
pin, Osgood's Favorite or Lyscom, and the Hubbardston. For 
early winter apples I prefer the Spitzenburg, the Northern Spy, 
the Fameuse, the Mother, Tallman's Sweet, Seek No Further,, 
and the Ribston Pippin ; and the Rhode Island Greening, 
the Baldwin, and the Golden Russet for the late winter and 
early spring months. 

I have no doubt, Mr. President, that much more might be 
said concerning the cultivation of the apple, but I have occu- 
pied enough of your time this evening, and I have laid down all 
the directions I deem necessary for the proper management of 
the orchard. I could tell how much I have become attached to 
my trees, and how much each one seems now like an old friend 
or acquaintance, whose shape and countenance I should recog- 
nize among ten thousand. Each tree in my orchard seems to 



FRUIT CULTURE. 445 

have a character of its own, and I assure you I pass many 
pleasant hours among my friends whom I planted, and who have 
grown up under my eye, all as different as the members of my 
own family, and all reminding me of the cheerful days I have 
passed in their care and cultivation. 

" A most excellent piece for our friend the blacksmith," 
whispered Dr. Parker to the old Squire, who sat with him 
in the corner next the brightest side of the wood-fire. " It 
is a good thing to have a bright daughter at a good school," 
replied the Squire. 

" I have heard Mr. Barnes's account of his trees with 
pleasure," said Mr. Howe. " I agree with him that a pe- 
riod seems to have arrived in the cultivation of the apple, 
like that which has reached the potato and the buttonwood 
tree, and which awaits almost every variety of vegetation 
to which the skill and science of man are applied. Plants 
transferred from a natural state to a highly artificial state 
are liable, I think, to limitations ; and I trust science will 
one day discover the mode by which such a difficulty can 
be overcome. While the trouble lasts I would curtail the 
extent of our apple orchards, give the whole family a resting- 
spell, and wait for the time when Nature in this region is 
once more ready to pursue her work in this direction. I 
should not allow my old orchards to encumber the soil 
longer, and I should be sparing in the planting of new 
trees, and very economical and careful in selecting land for 
this purpose." 

" Don't abandon the apple," said Dr. Parker. " I know 
we are obliged to contend with all sorts of diseases and 
insects and adverse winds and storms ; but the usefulness 
of an orchard, the associations which surround it, the place 
which the apple has held in our domestic economy, the 
cheer it gives the evening fireside, the rosy crown of our 
Thanksgiving table, the representative fruit of New Eng- 
land, appeal to us for care and consideration ; and I hope 



446 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

our farms will continue to have the beauty of the orchard 
even if the days of its profit are gone. What would the 
girls and boys do without it ? What would become of the 
charming Galateas of modern days who pelt us with apples 
still ? What — " 

The end of the Doctor's sentence was inaudible ; and 
some of the practical gentlemen began to wonder whether 
he had " stepped aside " once more. But the Squire un- 
derstood it all, and only indulged in a little internal laugh 
over the poetic wanderings of even the coolest, when 
fanned by the wings of the busy and ardent little god. 

" The West is interfering largely with our apple-trade,"^ 
remarked Mr. Hopkins. 

" Yes," said John Thomas ; " and so I have reduced the 
raising of apples on my farm to the wants of my family, 
and if there is a surplus I convert it into cider, as the best 
and only way of disposing of it." 

" And the cider into vinegar, I suppose," said the Rev. 
Mr. Howe'. 

At this remark Sam Barker's ruddy face grew redder 
still, and he coughed a profound and wheezy cough in re- 
sponse. 

The subject was becoming intricate and difficult to man- 
age in all its bearings, commercial, moral, physical, and 
agricultural, and with a suggestion that Phineas Barnes 
continue the discussion of Fruit Culture at the next meet- 
ing, and tell what he knew about the cultivation of the 
pear, the Club adjourned. 



FRUIT CULTURE. 447 



TWENTY-NINTH MEETING. 

FRUIT CULTURE (Continued). 

CHARLES INGALLS RETURNS FROM BOSTON. — A NEW REVELATION 
TO CLARA. — SHE LS SORELY TROUBLED. — THE MEMBERS OF THE 
CLUB PHILOSOPHIZE. 

1 HERE is no doubt that even during the absence of 
Charles Ingalls from Jotham a full-grown drama was per- 
formed in every family of that delightful and quaint town^ 
as often as once a day at least. The outward events may 
not have been great, but the passions and motives and 
impulses and emotions, the intricate workings of the human 
mind, and the eccentric and unaccountable beatings of 
the human heart, so often find room enough to display 
themselves, even on the narrowest stage of life, that the 
great, secret, hidden story has not yet found a chronicler 
capable of comprehending or telling it all. It is not always 
on the most imposing field that the grandest events are 
enacted ; but in the obscure regions of society, the sudden 
impulse, the burning passion, the adroit design, the cun- 
ning endeavor, may all find room and opportunity for the 
exercise of all these natural faculties, in obedience to a 
divine law which the mind of man has not been able to 
conceive. The tragedy of a cottage may be as great as 
the tragedy of a palace. God works everywhere. And so 
in Jotham the play of life was going on like the kingdom 
of God, which cometh not with observation. Clara thought 
the place was unusually dull ; but to all the rest of the 
people there was no perceptible change. The executive 
committee of the Club, even though expecting Charles's 



448 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

return, and although anxious for it, still determined to call 
their meeting, and encourage Phineas Barnes to continue 
the discussion of Fruit Culture. 

It was under the usually agreeable circumstances, over 
which no cloud had fallen, that Mr. Barnes drew forth his 
paper and proceeded with his work. 

FRUIT CULTURE. 

I have determined to give my views on the cultivation of the 
pear and the quince, and perhaps of the peach. I had pre- 
pared myself carefully for this when my attention was called to 
the admirable views written out for the Farmer's Book, a work 
to which allusion has before been made at our meetings, and I 
think I cannot do better than to read them here. '' Pears re- 
quire," says this work, " nearly the same soils and situations as 
the apple, but more porous. Different varieties require differ- 
ent soils. All require lime, and if it be not naturally in the 
soil, it should be supplied. The following list shows the soils 
in which a few of the standard varieties do the best. In clayey 
soils : — 

"Andrews, Bartlett, Beurre d'Anjou, Beurre Superfine, Beurre 
Langalier, Brandywine, Belle Lucrative, Buffum, Doyenne, Bus- 
sock, Howell, Louise Bonne de Jersey, Lawrence, Merriam, 
Onondaga, Rostiezer, Seckel, Vicar of Winkfield, and Winter 
Nelis. 

" All the above varieties, except the last, the Winter Nelis, are 
benefited by a large admixture of sand in the soil. The follow- 
ing varieties grow best in a sandy soil without clay : — 

"Beurre d'Aremburg, Beurre Bosc, Beurre Diel, Dearborn's 
See.iling, Duchesse d'Angouleme, Flemish Beauty, Glout Mor- 
ceau, Uibaniste. 

"Whatever the soil, it should be thoroughly and well cultivated. 
The pear on its own roots will not bear transplanting after three 
or four years of age, unless it is root-pruned every year or at 
least the year before transplanting ; but on the quince it may 
be transplanted at almost any age. But though in gardens and 



FRUIT CULTURE. 449 

market culture the pear is usu:i]ly grown on the quince as a 
dwarf tree, for the purposes of the ordinary farmer, to whom we 
speak, we advise budding on pear stocks. At three years from 
the bud they should be removed to the orchard. The early 
autumn is the best time for this, and if done before the fall of 
the leaf, the leaves should be stripped of. When transplanted 
great care should be taken to retain as many as possible of the 
small fibrous rootlets, as the.^e furnish life to the tree. The 
same directions given for transplanting the apple apply to the 
pear, except that the trees should not be more than twelve feet 
apart, which will allow five hundred trees to an acre. Every 
farmer can find at least one fourth of an acre to devote to the 
culture of the pear, which will allow for one hundred and twenty- 
five trees, and which will be a source of enjoyment and profit. 
One need not now waste a 'lifetime in order to obtain the fruit, 
for six years from planting the seed is ample time for the first 
crop of this delicious fruit, and we know of thousands of pear- 
trees that have borne for over fifty years. We once knew a tree 
three years from the bud to set over four hundred pears ; all but 
about twenty-five were picked off, but this shows how quickly 
the fruit will mature if treated properly. Pear-trees set twelve 
feet apart and pruned to a pyramidal form will have plenty of 
room for a number of years, and as they become too thick the 
poorest trees can be thinned out. The pyramidal form is one 
very easily obtained if the trees are kept down, as the pear 
should be, to within twelve feet in height. In the pear orchard 
no calculation should be made for horse cultivation, and the 
lowest branches should not be more than four or five feet from 
the ground. Dwarf pears on quince stocks should be culti- 
tivated much lower. All agree that the pyramidal is the best 
shape for the pear, and each pruning should have reference ta 
this shape. No grass or grain should ever be allowed in the 
pear orchard, but all root crops are beneficial, as for the apple. 
A small strip can be ploughed by the use of the short whififle- 
tree, but most of the cultivation must be done with the spade, 
digging-fork, and the hoe. I'he pear must not be allowed to 
bear too early or too profusely. It requires a great deal of 



45 O THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

courage to pick off half the young fruit from a tree, but that 
which matures will be larger and finer, and the exhaustion to 
the tree not so great, even if the weight of the fruit is the same. 
The tree is exhausted, not by the amount of fruit in weight that 
it bears, but by the number of specimens in which it perfects 
the seed. Fruit-growers will do well to bear this in mind. For 
market or the kitchen-gardens the pear should usually be culti- 
vated on quince stocks. The quince is a valuable tree of itself, 
but as a stock for the pear it is of the greatest importance. It 
is usually propagated by layers when cultivated for its fruit. 
The soil for the quince should be deep and rich and well culti- 
vated. The common method of setting the bush and letting it 
take care of itself is just as ridiculous as for the farmer to leave 
his corn in the same way. They should be pruned generally, 
and never allowed to grow bushy. As they are usually near the 
house, they should be treated to frequent doses of soap-suds, 
and the soil about their roots kept mellow. Quince-trees 
treated in this way will yield enormous crops in proportion to 
the size of the tree. The Orange Quince is the favorite for the 
garden. For stocks for the pear a different mode of propaga- 
tion is practised, namely, root-grafting, which is extensively 
practised by nurserymen upon apple and quince stocks, as it 
can be done in the house in the winter. The seedlings or cut- 
tings that are to be root-grafted are taken from their winter bed, 
a few at a time, grafted, and at once returned. The stem is cut 
off at the collar, or the point where it emerges from the ground, 
and the graft inserted in the same manner as upon the stock. 
Pears on quince stocks will usually have to be obtained from 
the nursery, and we advise purchasing only of reliable nursery- 
men, and obtaining assurances that they are not on the common 
quince, which is worthless for stocks, but on the Angers Quince. 
Buy the best that are to be had, — a few cents make but little dif- 
ference here, but will make a vast difference in the final results. 
" If, however, the attempt is made to grow your own stocks, 
select to bud on the quince only such as have proved successful 
when thus ^rown. Many pears will not grow on the quince. 
The standard varieties that are best adapted to the quince are : 



FRUIT CULTURE. 45 I 

Bergamotte, Beurre d'Anjou, Beuire Superfine, Beurre Diel, 
Beurre Gifford, Brandywine, Belle Lucrative, Duchesse d'Aii- 
gouleme, Easter Beurre, Flemish Beauty, Glout Morceau, Louise 
Bonne de Jersey, Rostiezer, Urbaniste, Vicar of W'inkfield. 

'' In the Southern States the Madeleine, Julienne, White Doy- 
enne, Lawrence, SLckel, and Tyson can be added to the above 
list ; and for the Western States, the Tyson, Seckel, Kirtland, 
Nouveau, Poiteau, Doyenne Ette, and Bloodgood. 

"The pear on the quince should be planted with the collar 
from two to four inches beneath the surface, for the quince 
serves as a root, never as a stem. Here has been the cause of 
the failure of tens of thousands of dwarf pears. If the quince 
stock is above the ground, it is more liable to be attacked by 
insects ; it is liable to be broken off by high winds at the joint, 
and the pear, growing more vigorously, produces a deformity ; 
while if placed two or three inches below the surface, it is strong, 
healthy, free from borers, while the pear itself will in time take 
root beneath the surface and grow upon its own roots. Under 
proper treatment it comes intp bearing on the quince in one 
half the time needed on its own roots, can be more readily 
trimmed to a pyramid form, so desirable in the pear, and we 
think is just as long-lived. We at least know of trees on quince 
stocks that have been in bearing over forty years. Twelve feet 
apart is ample space for planting these trees ; and when ground 
is scarce, if it is sure to be thoroughly cultivated, annually ma- 
nured, properly pruned, and the young trees thinned of their first 
crops, six feet apart in the rows and rows twelve feet apart will 
answer. In summer pinching off the terminal buds is the best 
method of pruning these trees. If the leader shoots up too 
vigorously pinch it off ; if any of the upper shoots get as long 
as the lower ones, pinch them off ; if buds appear where you do 
not want limbs to grow, pinch them. This is- much better than 
wailing until the wood is matured and pruning must be done 
with a knife ; but, if you leave it until then, be sure your knife 
is like a razor. Cut just above a bud. Prune in the spring 
those branches you wish to have grow vigorously, and in sum- 
mer those whose growth vou wish to check. When trees are 



452 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

slow to come into bearing, prune in the spring, pinch through 
the summer, and root-prune early in the aulumn. 

" The pear, unlike other fruits, bears from a permanent spur ;. 
after the fruit has been picked, if this spur is cut back new fruit- 
buds will start at its base. The germs of these buds can be 
seen at the time of gathering the fruit. The wood-buds are 
readily distinguished from the fruit-buds, as the latter are full 
and plump, while the former are usually pointed. Wood-buds 
can be converted into fruit-buds by bending down or breaking 
off the shoot just above the bud. This distinction between 
wood and fruit buds should be kept constantly in mind when 
pruning the tree. Old pear-trees are reinvigorated by the same 
process of grafting the tops already described for the apple. 

" Thinning the fruit, as we have hinted, is often necessary. 
Says Thomas W. Field, a successful cultivator of the pear : 
' Good soils, fine cultivation, healthy and vigorous trees, and all 
the other requisites of pear-growing will often fail of producing 
fine fruit, if all that sets is allowed to remain on the tree. The 
fruit of the Bartlett, Dearborn's Seedling, Louise Bonne de 
Jersey, and many other varieties will set in such quantities that 
if thinning is neglected not one half will reach the full size or 
acquire their best flavor. Besides, these varieties yield fruit so 
early that the trees will be ruined by this precocious fruitful- 
ness. Two years after planting these varieties will begin bear- 
ing, and not more than a dozen specimens should be allowed to 
ripen annually the two first years of bearing. The period for 
thinning is when the pears are from a half to three quarters of 
ah inch in diameter ; for, as many fall soon after forming, it is 
not until then the perfect ones can be distinguished. Not more 
than one half the thinning should be done at once, and the 
others may be allowed to remain until we can ascertain the 
imperfect fruit to be removed. 

" ' There are but few of the finer varieties that are not improved 
by gathering before they are fully ripe. Not a few have been 
discarded as unworthy of cultivation, which by early picking im- 
prove so as to rank among the first in excellence. Several vari- 
eties rot at the core when left upon the tree until fully ripe, 



FRUIT CULTURE. 453 

Avhich will keep for weeks if picked eailier. Among these are 
the Flemish Beauty, Beun-e Diel, and Louise Bonne de Jersey. 
The true test of the proper condition for gathering is the cleav- 
ing of the stem from the spur when slightly raised. Some vari- 
eties should not be left even so long as this. The fruit should 
never be picked early in the morning, while the dew is on, or in 
a w'et or cloudy day. When it is necessary to pick it in such 
weather, it should be exposed to light and air until it is com- 
pletely dry. Pears picked in the middle of a sunny day are 
superior in flavor, and keep better. Early gathering applies 
only to the summer and autumn varieties ; late-keeping, winter 
kinds should be allowed to hang as long as the frosts will per- 
mit. A dry, cool room should be used for the storage and 
ripening of fruits, and there should be nothing in the room from 
which the frujt can absorb flavor.' " 

Mr. Copeland says the success of pear culture depends on 
plenty of moisture, plenty of manure, and on thinning the fruit ; 
and I agree with him entirely. 

And now let me say a few words with regard to the peach. 
The best stocks for the peach, as well as for all stone fruit, are 
raised from the seeds ; and they grow best on their own stocks, 
which should be selected, in the case of peaches especially, from 
the late varieties as the most hardy. They should be planted 
in rows three feet apart, and eighteen inches apart in the rows ; 
and in this form they should stand until they are two years old. 
^Vhen they have reached this age, in the month of September 
they should be budded. The following year they can be set in 
the orchard, for which the soil should be prepared and manured 
with the same care as has been recommended for apples and 
pears. It is not easy to keep a peach-tree in shape. It has a 
tendency to grow in a rambling, scraggy manner, and can only 
be kept in order by early and persistent pruning. A yearling 
tree should be cut back within two or three feet of the ground 
in the spring ; and durmg the following year it should be al- 
lowed to retain only three of its shoots, which will form the 
branches of a later growth and will determine the shape of the 
tree. Every other shoot besides these three should be removed 



454 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

during the season. Cut back these three shoots half their 
length the following spring, and when the wood-buds appear 
upon them, rub off all but two or three on each shoot, and so 
on year by year, until the tree has received a proper form. On 
the fourth or fifth year the tree will begin to bear, and will soon 
bring forth fruit abundantly. The fruit should be properly 
thinned in order that it may reach the highest degree of perfec- 
tion. 

The peach-tree in these days is peculiarly liable to disease. 
The Yellows and the borer are its most dangerous enemies. 
For the former the only remedy I know is the selection of a 
warm, dry soil, a plentiful supply of ashes and bone-manure, 
and patience and submission when the disease breaks out. 
For the borer the author of " Ten Acres Enough " gives the fol- 
lowing effective remedy : " Ten well-grown bearing trees which 
I found in the garden were harboring one hundred and ninety 
worms among them when I undertook the work of extermina- 
tion. I bared the collar and roots of each tree as far as I 
could track a worm and cut him out. I then scrubbed the 
whole of the exposed part with soap suds and a regular scrub- 
bing brush, after which I left them exposed for a week. If any 
worms had been overlooked, the chips thrown out by their 
operations would be plainly visible on the clean surface at the 
week's end. Having tracked and cut them out also, I felt sure 
the enemy was exterminated, and covered up the roots, but first 
using a swab of common tar, applying it all around the collar 
and some distance up." 

Trees attacked by the borer may be restored to liberal fruit- 
fulness in this way, and if they are in a nursery, they can in the 
same way be kept free from these destructive pests. 

Of the varieties I prefer the freestone, white-meated, medium 
early. The very early kinds are apt to be deficient in flavor 
and firmness ; and the very late varieties are often coarse, harsh, 
and bitter. The Cambridge Belle and Morris White do very 
well in our climate, and are very delicious. The Crawfords, 
both earlv and late, being yellow-fleshed, have never stood high 
on my list. They are better to raise and sell than to consume. 



FRUIT CULTURE. 455 

I think it is unnecessary for me to occupy your time in dis- 
cussing the apricot, which is a fancy fruit intended for the gar- 
den, and merely as an attractive variety. It seldom yields well, 
and cannot be profitably raised for the market. 

I doubt not I have omitted many important matters in this 
statement, which I have drawn partly from my own experience, 
and partly, from the best authority and the mo-^t concise, me- 
thodical, and agreeable writers. If 1 have at last done anything 
for the benefit of the Club, I congratulate myself upon it ; and 
I feel more grateful than I can express for the patient attention 
I have received. I trust the subject with which I have dealt 
will be carefully discussed by the members of the Club, and I 
shall be happy to receive any suggestions by which I shall be 
able to perfect my orchard, to which I have devoted so much 
time, and to which I am so warmly attached. 

,' " I should say the raising of pears and peaches was 
rather fancy work, after all," said Sam Barker. 

" Not exactly," replied John Thomas. " I don't think it 
is qtiite as steady-going and substantial as raising corn 
and potatoes ; but these nice fruits require care and atten- 
tion, and that never does any man harm ; they are always 
a luxury, and that looks well on any man's table ; they 
often sell well, and that encourages a man's pocket. It 
don't do to carry them too far. But they will do to 
civilize the men-folks, just as flowers civilize the women- 
folks. I have a few trees, a few pears and peaches, and 
I nurse them, and look them over, and trim them, and dig 
round them, and like to know that they belong to the 
farm. They make it kind o' human." 

" It don't do a man any harm to have a choice thing 
round," said Ben Adams. 

"As it is in fruit culture so is it in every other branch 
of farming," said Mr. Howe, who noticed the good in- 
fluence of the discussions of the Club on those who had 
attended its meetings. "An attempt to reach and main- 



456 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

tain a high standard will always improve a man's whole 
life, whether he makes his effort on the land or in the 
library." 

At this moment Charles Ingalls entered, as if to con- 
firm the truth of Mr. Howe's last sentence ; and a wel- 
come guest he was. He had finished his business in 
Boston, and with the promptness of a good lawyer and a 
faithful lover he had made the best of his way back to 
Jotham and the modest mansion of the Widow Bell. His 
arrival was unexpected to Clara, who supposed from the 
tenor of his last letter that he would necessarily be absent 
a week longer. She was not exactly prepared to meet 
him. She had been loving a schoolmaster and a law 
student so long, that she was a little abashed in the pres- 
ence of a professional gentleman who had stepped at once 
into a good reputation and into association with those 
whose society is an indorsement of ability and character. 
She was getting ready to meet Charles, and he had come 
before she had completed her preparations ; and as the fine 
speech died away on her tongue, and as the resolve she 
had made to impress him with her progress and develop- 
ment as much as he would undoubtedly impress her with 
his own faded and died away from her heart, she felt 
abashed and awkward, and stood there before her lover 
the poorest picture of herself which could be imagined, and' 
in striking contrast with the self-possessed and polished 
women, young and old, whom he had met during his 
absence ; nor did she recover at once. In endeavoring to 
play her part well, she had lost all her natural force, and she 
became disappointed in herself, ashamed of herself, and 
half afraid of Charles. And Charles, too, was disappointed. 
He had left Boston gladly, and had hastened homeward 
with growing anticipations of the abounding joy which 
awaited him there. He did not exactly realize how hum- 
ble that home was. He had partially forgotten what a 



FRUIT CULTURE. 457 

simple and unadorned person Clara was. And when he 
found himself suddenly transported from the solid comfort 
and thorough culture of the city to the unexpected awk- 
wardness of a startled country girl, and the bare simplicity 
of her country home, he was stunned and astonished, and 
at last distressed. He did not get along at all ; nor did 
Clara. Poor Mrs. Bell did n't understand the chilliness 
of the atmosphere in her usually bright and sunny home. 
Charles tried to be cheerful, and told of his success ; tried 
to be kind, and told how in the midst of all the gayeties of 
his journey he had longed for the easy companionship of 
his friends in Jotham ; tried to be affectionate, and told 
Clara how much more dear to him were the warm and 
genial rays of her home, adorned as she adorned it, than 
was the luxurious abode of Mary Fenton, made graceful by 
her studied and polished presence. But he failed to be 
either cheerful or kind or affectionate ; and, without losing 
his temper, he sat awhile, after sipping his cup of tea which 
Mrs. Bell had provided for him, in a painful silence, and 
at last, saying that he really ought to go to the Club, he 
strolled out in a state of misery, disappointment, and dis- 
gust. He was wretched and bewildered. How gladly 
would he have returned and thrown his arms around Clara 
in an ecstasy of reconciliation and warm and thorough 
understanding! But she was not the Clara whom he had 
left but a few short weeks before, and he stared out into 
the darkness until his eyes were near to bursting, in hopes 
that he might see the light and beauty which he had failed 
to find where he confidently expected it. His experience 
in the city grew hateful to him ; and in an agony he cried to 
God that he would restore himself and Clara to the sweet 
and happy home which was once so unclouded to them 
both. And through the stillness of the night there came 
floating and panting to his ear a bursting sob of passionate 
distress and hopelessness which told him how deeply a 



458 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

young heart might be buried by the despair of disap- 
pointed love. But he returned not, — why, he could not 
tell. And so he entered the cheerful parlor of Mr. Hop- 
kins to be cordially welcomed by his old associates there. 
Clara laid her aching head upon her pillow, disappointed, 
broken-hearted, and bewildered by her own conduct as well 
as by the conduct of her lover. 

When Charles appeared in the Club the debate was just 
drawing to a close. Mr. Hopkins declared the meeting to 
be adjourned, and the members gathered around the young 
lawyer with such cordiality and unaffected warmth that his 
spirits rebounded, and he began to feel that he had really 
found his home and his friends after all. He told his ex- 
perience rapidly to one group after another, and received 
their congratulations on his success with that feeling of 
manly pride and independence which sometimes passes for 
youthful vanity and complacency. One after another, at 
last, the members withdrew, and left a little assembly con- 
sisting of Mr. Hopkins, Mr. Howe, Dr. Parker, Squire 
Wright, and John Thomas, who drew up their chairs 
before the hearth, and called Charles into the circle to 
give an account of himself. He had witnessed no more 
cheering scene than that in any house which he had 
entered during his absence, and he had fallen into no 
stronger, more manly and intelligent and independent 
group than that which he now joined. Mr. Hopkins, Dr. 
Parker, and Squire Wright lighted their cigars, while Mr. 
Howe looked on with an air of serene superiority to such 
questionable taste, and John Thomas contemplated the 
glowing backlog with apparent indifference to the habits 
and opinions of his companions. 

" Well, Charles, we are glad to see you home at last," 
said Squire Wright, when his cigar was thoroughly lighted; 
"and we think you have done your work well." 

" Yes," said Mr. Hopkins, " and T have been thinking it 



FRUIT CULTURE, 459 

would n't be a bad plan, Squire, for you to have an office 
in Boston, and locate Charles there. He is going to make 
a first-rate commercial lawyer, I am satisfied." 

Charles thought of Clara, and shuddered. 

" I don't know about that," said Dr. Parker. " I cannot 
conceive anything so bad for our country towns as draw- 
ing away from them all the young activity and talent, and 
pouring it into the large cities. Why, what a misfortune 
it would be to our State and the country to destroy all the 
dignity and independence and power of the country, Squire. 
Don't suggest such a thing." 

" But," said Mr. Howe, who had begun to dream of a 
city pulpit, " ambitious young men and young men ot tal- 
ent must find a sphere where they can fulfil their mission." 

"O Parson, don't for Heaven's sake talk about spheres 
and missions !" exclaimed Dr. Parker. " Jotham is enough 
for me, and may be for any man who knows the difference 
between a reality and a sham." 

" Your old father always said you had no ambition. Doc- 
tor," said John Thomas, bluntly. 

" If you want to make your mark among men, you must 
go where men are," said Mr. Hopkins. 

" The merchant is right," said the old Squire ; " and let 
me tell you man can't afford to avoid his fellow-men. If 
he does he must pay the price for it in mind, body, and 
estate. I have great respect for my profession. Excuse 
me, Parson, but I think it is the great sphere for the exer- 
cise of man's highest powers. The creation of a state has 
always received the admiration of the world ; the creation 
of a code, as the foundation of a state, is one of the most 
difficult tasks ever undertaken by man. And I have 
always connected my profession with such labor as this, 
because I know no way in which man can approach the 
work of creative statesmanship except through the avenues 
of the law. There is certainly no service on earth in 



4^0 . THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

which man can apply all his powers of mind as he can in 
this. I may be hardened and narrowed myself by severe 
work in the practice of law, I know, but I cannot tell how 
highly I appreciate the character of a sound, wise, pro- 
gressive lawyer, — a lawyer who understands what the 
law is, and also knows how to interpret it in accordance 
with the best spirit of the age and country in which he 
lives, and how to reform and modify it in accordance with 
the necessities of the times. I may be told that the busi- 
ness of a lawyer is to conserve, and hold back, and apply. 
But I think differently. A knowledge of the law should 
not make a man an obstruction, even if the practice of the 
law has that tendency. I do not forget that out of the 
legal philosophy with which he had stored his mind, Jef- 
ferson drew the doctrines of the Declaration of Independ- 
ence ; and I cannot be too grateful to those great legal 
minds which, during the opening scenes of the Revolution, 
taught the American people the firm foundations upon 
which to build the Republic, — Adams, and Otis, and 
Ouincy, and Randolph, and Lee. And I have always 
admired the courage with which the great freedom-loving 
lawyers of our own times have defied the decisions of the 
courts, have led the people on in the paths of progress and 
freedom and humanity, and have bent the law to their 
great doctrines of right. Now, Charles, my day is over ; 
and let me beg you, guided as I am by the light of ex- 
perience and long observation, to be a sound and wise 
lawyer, if you would be useful in your profession, and a 
humane, progressive, bold, reformatory lawyer, setting 
higher value on principles than on precedents, on doc- 
trines than on rules, if you would be useful to mankind. 
And let me warn you that inasmuch as you fail in this 
latter service, so much will you fail in accomplishing all 
that the profession you have chosen ofiers you in a republic 
like oifrs." 



FRUIT CULTURE. 46 1 

The Squire finished his harangue and his cigar at the 
same time. There was no more to be said. He looked 
exalted, and his audience looked thoughtful. And they 
sat there and watched the dying embers, and smoked, and 
dropped in a remark here and there, until a nod from John 
Thomas reminded them that it was time to depart. And 
So they did. 

Charles Ingalls took care to separate himself from his 
companions and make his way home alone. He had found 
temporary relief in the excitement of 'the Club, and in the 
fireside talk which followed ; but this was exhausted, and 
he was now compelled to turn to himself and to bear the 
full force of the disappointment and pain which sensitive- 
ness and ambition had brought upon himself and Clara. 
He felt ashamed of his own weakness, and sick at heart 
that he had not, in a manly and generous way, lifted her 
who loved him so deeply out of her trouble, and restored 
her at once to an abiding faith in her own superiority and 
his affection. One kind word, one gentle look, would have 
done it all ; and in this he had failed. And now his self- 
reproach was bitter, and his young and lordly head was 
bowed in shame and regret, as he realized that he had in 
the very morning of life inflicted a wound which might 
never be entirely healed, and remembered how dangerous 
it is to disappoint a woman's love in the beginning. As 
he approached his humble home he saw a faint light in 
Clara's window, and his heart sank within him. He en- 
tered the house, and all there was still. He crept to his 
room and to a night of repentance, and sorrow, and new 
resolutions, and restored devoted love. 



462 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 



THIRTIETH MEETING. 

CRAPE CULTURE. 

THE MORNING DAWNS- — MRS. BELL SIEPS IN. - THE CLOUDS 
VANISH. — CHARLES RETURNS TO HIS LAW, AND CLARA TO HER 
LOVE. 

1 HE dawn of the morning clothed Jotham with its splen- 
dors, and the breath of the morning filled it with sweetness 
and life. The stars of heaven retired from their nightly- 
vigils before the rising illumination, and all the feeble, 
flickering candles which had watched during the heavy 
hours of night by the bedside of pain and sorrow made 
way for the consoling and invigorating light of the new 
day. The sad and the joyful realities took the place of 
those spectres which assume a material shape in the night 
watches, and fill the soul with a painful ecstasy or with 
overwhelming dread and apprehension. The distressing 
intensity of darkness was over, and the healthful influences 
of the sunlight were felt in mind, soul, and body, as well as 
in the awakening forces of the natural world. To Charles 
and Clara the daylight was especially grateful. They had 
passed a sleepless night, surveying with distress and terror 
the great gulf which seemed suddenly fixed between them, 
exaggerating the trials of the present and magnifying the 
gloomy prospects of the future. The mystery of the situa- 
tion neither of them seemed to understand. For herself, 
Clara felt that she had been brought to her trying situation 
by an ambitious desire to appear well in the eyes of her 
lover ; and why such a worthy endeavor should be re- 
warded with such profound sorrow, and such a painful 



GRAPE CULTURE. 4^3 

disruption and misunderstanding, she could not compre- 
hend. At times she was disposed to be angry with Charles 
for his apparent disregard of her feelings, and his incapacity 
to understand the embarrassment into which she seemed 
to herself to be naturally thrown. For himself, Charles 
had a more difficult task still. His conscience smote him 
when he recalled the emotions which rushed upon him as 
he returned to his home, and found it smaller and less 
demonstrative than he had anticipated ; and he was not 
ready to forgive himself for having been tempted by the 
more imposing attractions of the outer world. He could 
not be angry ; but he could be ashamed, then penitent, 
then anxious for the hour to come when he could ask for- 
giveness, and in a manly way return to the sweet compan- 
ionship of her whom he loved, and enjoy once more her 
affection and confidence. While he had no idea of the 
cause of Clara's apparent indifference, and was so puzzled 
in his. endeavors to attribute it to any rational motive, that 
he at last convinced himself that it was scarcely more than 
momentary and accidental awkwardness, he had no such 
excuse for himself; and he had an idea, all too vivid, of 
the weakness and almost wickedness of his own which had 
beclouded their heavens. It was he, therefore, who arrived 
first at the point of thorough reconciliation. 

It is not an easy matter to be equal to a peaceful adjust- 
ment of our difficulties, or to return to the abodes of confi- 
dence and love after having wandered away from them. 
Charles felt this keenly as he hastened to meet Clara in 
the early morning hour and knew not whether by confes- 
sion or appeal or by natural impulse, he was to be restored 
to his home in her heart. Clara felt it more keenly still, 
because it seemed to her that nothing short of desperate 
estrangement could have brought Charles to his frigid and 
repulsive deportment. When they met, therefore, — Clara 
more fascinating than ever, a drooping lily, beautified and 



464 THE FARM- YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

spiritualized by the sudden sorrow, her pale face still be- 
dewed with grief, and her steady and loving eye depressed 
by the storm ; her whole form softened with an air of doubt 
and hesitation, and sustained by an evident capacity to 
bear the trial if it must come, — and Charles freed from 
every ignoble sentiment, and elevated to a strong and 
manly determination that no cloud should hang over that 
loving heart again, so long as he held his place of light and 
heat in its heaven, conscious of his power when true to 
her whom he loved, and of his weakness when false, — 
when they met, the heavens were cleared at once, and the 
doubt and trial were all in an instant forgotten. Charles's 
radiance brought strength and peace to Clara ; and Clara's 
shrinking and touching sorrow brought generosity and 
courage to Charles. There was no occasion there for ex- 
planation, none for forgiveness, none for words. To each 
the situation revealed itself; and before the great vision 
which broke upon their eyes, all the annoying events sank 
into insignificance, and all doubts vanished. The cloud 
had passed from Charles's brow, and as, glowing with a 
manly radiance, he drew Clara to his loving heart, and 
in a gentle and tearful tone exclaimed, " Thank God, my 
darling, I am here at last," her spirit rose within her, and 
her heart found its sweet peace once more, as she laid her 
head upon his breast and whispered : " O Charles, may 
God bless us evermore ! I can bear death, but not doubt 
and fear." And on that bright, fresh spring morning, 
with opening nature as a witness, there went up to Heaven 
from those two young hearts a vow which was never 
broken, and a still and fervent prayer which was heard and 
answered. 

" Why, Charles, it does seem so good to see you back 
again," exclaimed the Widow Bell, who now appeared 
upon the scene. " Clara 's been so kind o' lost and 
moping, that I did n't know what to make of her. Why, 



GRAPE CULTURE. 465 

when I was young, afore I was married, my poor critter 
used to go away and be gone all summer a-fishing to the 
Banks, 'cause he was kind o' feeble like ; he never had 
no health, you see; looked real delicate, just like Clara, 
only not so smart as she looks ; I never took on, nor 
thought much on 't, anyhow. But then folks differs. But 
I 'm so glad to see you home. And Clara looks better 
a'ready." 

" Why, my dear good woman," said Charles, " what an 
awful time you must have had ! But let me tell you that 
I have no idea of going a-fishing, or leaving you, or quit- 
ting Jotham for the present, or allowing Clara to go alone 
in the world, or giving her a chance to let me go alone. 
And now a cup of your excellent coffee, Mrs. Bell, before 
I start for the office and all the labor of the day." 

Mrs. Bell vanished, leaving the two lovers to recount to 
each other what had occurred of mutual interest during 
their separation. Clara was anxious to hear about Mr. 
Fenton and the Courts, and inquired about Mary Fenton, 
how she looked, what she did, and what she knew. The 
library was a matter of great interest to her, and she 
asked Charles to advise Mr. Howe to purchase " Festus " 
for the book-club as soon as possible, — unconscious as 
she was of the startling theology which the good parson 
would find in the fervid pages of that defiant book. The 
story of the village was soon told by Clara in return ; and 
before Mrs. Bell had prepared her breakfast, the way of 
life was running smoothly for her family, as it had been 
for herself 

Charles reached his office in good season, and had it 
and his papers in good order long before Squire Wright 
appeared, to receive an account of the precise condition of 
the business which had called Charles to Boston. The 
examination of the papers, which was commenced by the 
sagacious old lawyer as soon as he arrived, proved to be 



466 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

eminently satisfactory, and the decision of the Court was 
found to sustain all the points for which he had contended 
from the very beginning of the difficult case. And then 
came a long list of those matters which always accumulate 
in the office of a country lawyer. William Jones had 
inadvertently sold a spavined horse to Deacon Morrill, of 
an adjoining town, and the irate deacon had left the case 
in the hands of Squire Wright ; Charles was directed to 
call Jones's attention to the matter, — but in any event not 
to get into a " horse-case." Sam Barker and his brother 
Phineas had lived together for twenty years on the undi- 
vided estate of their father. Phineas had died, and now 
his heirs called on Sam to divide and settle. Sam thought 
this a hardship, and had put himself into the hands of 
Squire Wright. Dr. Parker had left a long account against 
the railroad for services in the great accident where ten 
passengers were killed and twenty badly wounded ; and 
he hoped the account would be pressed to an immediate 
settlement. The grocer who had just died had boarded 
with Ben Adams twenty-five years, and during all that 
time there had been no settlement between them, so that 
there was an interminable grocery bill on one side, and 
as interminable a board bill on the other ; and Ben Adams, 
who was indignant at the demands of the creditors of the 
grocer for a settlement, and who feared it, had put him- 
self, too, into the hands of Squire Wright. John Thomas 
had been talking about making a will, and had left some 
minutes in the hands of Squire Wright, which the Squire 
now turned over to Charles, to be put by him into shape. 
And Charles began to think that the law business of 
Boston was nothing when compared with that tide which 
poured into the humble little office in Jotham. Into all 
this work, therefore, he fell, and he devoted himself to it 
so diligently that he forgot everything else about him, 
and everybody but Clara, and was quite astonished to find 



GRAPE CULTURE. 467 

that the time had arrived for a meeting of the Club, at 
which he was expected to read a paper upon the sub- 
ject of 

GRAPE CULTURE. 

The meeting having been called to order, and the sub- 
ject having been announced by the President, Charles 
Ingalls discoursed as follows : — 

Mr. President, — The cultivation of the grape is one of the 
most difficult and doubtful operations of all that are undertaken 
by the farmer in this latitude. The grape is especially attached 
to its congenial soil and climate, and is not readily adapted to a 
new one. " It is," says Deaman, " extremely fastidious in its 
selection of the soil and temperature suited to its growth, and 
its after development is so slow that for six years it bears no 
fruit at all, and does not yield a full crop before the fifteenth 
season. It thrives best on the southern shores of the gulfs of 
Corinth and Lepanto, and on ancient Peloponnesus. The only 
other places where it will grow are three of the most fertile of 
the Ionian Islands, for it resists every attempt at transplanting 
to other countries of similar temperature or latitude. In Sicily 
and Malta the cuttings passed into the ordinary grape, and in 
Spain they would not take root at all. Even at so short a dis- 
tance as Athens, recent similar and persevering attempts sig- 
nally failed ; yet the fertile and lovely island of Zante is nearly 
buried in the profusion of innumerable plantations." Grapes 
grow nowhere so well as in their native land, and hence it is 
that the greatest improvement in this fruit has thus far been 
made by using the indigenous varieties as the foundation of new 
stock. It is very difficult to establish the vineyard in all the 
northern and central portions of New England and the corre- 
sponding latitudes west, where it can be relied on year after 
year for a well-developed and well-ripened crop ; but yet every 
farmer, every horticulturist at least, is ambitious to add this to 
the other products from which he is to reap a reward for tilling 
his soil ; and the persistent efforts to cultivate the grape in a 
latitude unsuited to it are continued. In the unkindly regions 



468 THE FARM- YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

great care should be taken in selecting the soil and the location. 
A warm, southerly slope should be secured if possible, and in 
this way the climate should be brought as near as may be to the 
temperature required by this plant. Avoid an exposed hill, on 
account of the blasting winds ; and avoid a low valley, on ac- 
count of the early frosts. The quality of the soil should be a 
warm, sandy loam, with a gravelly subsoil if possible, and en- 
tirely free, either by nature or art, from stagnant water. And 
inasmuch as the roots of the grape are not disposed to pene- 
trate deeply into the soil, but prefer to confine themselves to the 
warm surface, the soil should not be ploughed to a greater depth 
than five or six inches, nor should the manure be so buried as 
to attract the fibrous roots into the cold strata. It is argued by 
some very successful grape-growers that the sod ploughed under 
is peculiarly grateful to the grape, and they consider the decay- 
ing grass and roots thus buried to be a most valuable fertilizer 
for this crop. The soil should not be thin and povert3'-stricken, 
nor should it be strong and heavy. A warm and light and sub- 
stantial loam is what is most required. Nor should the manure 
be of a strong nitrogeneous character. The wood of the grape- 
vine will generally grow rapidly enough under any circum- 
stances ; and the object in cultivating the vine, therefore, is to 
encourage especially the growth of fruit. For this purpose 
avoid barn-yard manure and deep tillage. Fertilize the surface 
with phosphates, ashes, and bones. 

In selecting the vines for transplanting choose the strongest 
and healthiest which are one year old and have been properly 
cultivated. Vines older than this are not easily transplanted, 
and do not begin so readily the business of bearing fruit. In a 
young vine you generally get the best roots for transplanting,. 
— roots of such a size and organization that they take readily 
to their new bed. The best time to transplant vines is early in 
the autumn, if you can get them : not late in the autumn, lest 
the hard cold of winter should be too severe for them ; but early 
enough for them to get slightly rooted, so that they can resist 
this exposure successfully. If it is impossible to transplant 
them in the autumn, set them as early in the spring as the con- 
dition of the land will allow. 



GRAPE CULTURE. 4^9 

Select your vines with care, endeavoring al\va3's to obtain 
those which have a smooth healtliy look, with a good cluster of 
fibrous roots, and those which have made the best supply of 
wood the first season. Be careful not to set the vines too 
deeply ; five inches are enough, at which depth you secure all 
the warmth of the sun and atmosphere, and escape the drought. 
If set at a greater depth than this, a new system of roots is apt 
to start out above the old ones, and to perform the whole work 
of feeding the plant, leaving the original roots to die and decay. 
The result of this is a feeble-rooted and short-lived vine. If 
surface roots happen to grow the first year, they should be care- 
fully removed with the knife. 

During the first year after transplanting the vine may gener- 
ally be hft to itself. By confining the first year's growth to 
a single cane you produce a tendency in the root to grow in a 
similar manner. If, on the contrary, you encourage by neglect, 
or in any other way, a multitude of shoots, you encourage also a 
mass of fibrous and branching roots, which is best adapted to 
nourishing the vine when it reaches maturity enough to produce 
fruit. If the cluster of canes grown on the let-alone principle 
becomes inconvenient in the work of cultivating the soil, it can 
be bound to a stake and compelled to occupy but little more 
space than a single cane. In cultivating the soil in a vineyard 
great care should be observed to cultivate frequently, but never 
deeper than an inch and a half, to avoid injuring the roots. 
For this purpose a light cultivator or a small common harrow 
with stout teeth will be found convenient: By this process the 
soil can be kept in a light, porous condition, and the weeds will 
be most effectually killed. 

In setting the vines the best cultivators have found that the 
space required for each vine is about forty-eight square feet ; 
the rows being eight feet apart and the vines six feet apart in 
the rows. Says Dr. Fisher in his admirable essay : " The rows 
should run north and south, and for these reasons : If a row 
runs north and south, the morning sun shines upon the easterly 
side, and the afternoon sun shines upon the westerly side ; 
every leaf gets the sunlight in the course of the day. If the 



470 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

rows run east and west, the sun shines all clay upon the south 
side, and the leaves on the north side always make an effort to 
turn round toward the sun. They get all they can. They get, 
perhaps, nearly as much sun in the aggregate with the rows in 
this direction as the other. But the great difference is this : 
when it conies September, about the time of ripening, if the 
rows run north and south, the sun shines directly upon the 
ground for three or four hours during the middle of the day, 
and it warms up the soil, and that soil holds the heat during the 
night and radiates it. The temperature of a vineyard will thus 
be some degrees warmer than otherwise. If, on the contrary, 
the rows run east and west, the vines shade the entire ground, 
and hence you lose part of the heat. The moment the sun dis- 
appears you ha\'e no stored-up heat to carry your vines through 
the night. This, in the time of frost, is sometimes very impor- 
tant." 

Vines should be pruned in the autumn of the year, and each 
vine should be cut down within two buds of the earth. In this 
way we have a strong, well-organized root, capable of nourishing 
the small vine which remains with its two buds ; and a strong 
healthy growth will follow. Give the vine a free growth the 
second year, as you did the first, confining its abundant growth 
to a strong stake, and prune it again in the autumn, cutting it 
down to two buds from the root, and unless the vines are un- 
usually strong, they should be pruned down the third year also ; 
if very vigorous they may be allowed this year to fruit a little. 

During the third year it is necessary for the vine to be fur- 
nished with a trellis erected as follows, according to the 
authority of Dr. Fisher. The posts should be made of two- 
inch-square chestnut, or some other hard, durable wood. " The 
posts should be set six feet apart through the whole vineyard, 
one post for each vine ; they are set two feet and a half in and 
five feet and a half out, being eight feet long. My custom is 
to set the end post right by the side of the first vine, which 
makes it nine feet from the next one. The others are six feet 
apart. I put a brace in at the end, bracing the outside post to 
the foot of the next one, which brace is set into a little shoulder 



GRAPE CULTURE. 47 1 

just sufficient to hold it. Then upon tliese posts the wires are 
stretched. I have used various kinds, but the hist was No. 15 
galvanized iron wire, which I am incUned to think will give 
better satisfaction than anything else. The lower wire is placed 
twenty inches above the ground, a little higher than I used to 
put it, for the purpose of keeping, the grapes on the lower part 
of the trellis out of the dirt. A year ago this last autumn there 
were heavy rains through the month of September, that spat- 
tered a great deal of soil upon the grapes, and it was very diffi- 
cult to get it off. It troubled me so much that I decided that 
the lower wire should be raised to about twenty inches from 
the ground. The next wire I put fifteen inches above that. 
You will see the utility of that by and by. The next wire is 
fourteen inches above the second, and the next one is fifteen 
inches above that. 

"At the beginning of the third year allow but one cane to 
grow from each vine. Lead this cane of the second vine up to 
the first wire and let it grow along the wire during the season. 
Cari-y the next cane up to the third wire and let that run along 
the wire also. Lead the next cane up to the first wire and 
train in the same way. And so on alternately through the 
entire row. If laterals start from these canes, pinch them off 
to one leaf from the cane, being careful not to injure the lead- 
ing shoot, nor nip it off until it reaches a height of six feet. 
Prune the vines in the autumn of the third year, by simply 
cutting off the superfluous laterals. And if the cane is not 
strong enough to bear fruit the next season, cut it back to 
within two buds of its origin, and so continue to do until the 
wood becomes strong enough to hold the fruit, and vigorous 
enough to produce it. Thus managed, vines should begin to 
bear the fourth year. 

" During the fourth year we shall find a shoot starting from 
each one of the buds, and these shoots should not be allowed 
to grow beyond a cluster and two or three leaves beyond ; this 
will suppress the growth of wood. Meanwhile the shoots are 
allowed to progress for a little time, and when they become 
firm enough and long enough they can be tied to the second 



472 THE FARM- YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

wire above them. If laterals start out on these upright shoots 
during the season, they must be nipped off as the laterals were 
during the first year. When the tops of the laterals are pinched 
off, the surplus grapes should be pinched off also. This must 
be done in order that the \ines may not be exhausted. A 
vine, it is said, cannot bear more than six pounds of grapes 
successfully and without injury to itself, and it should not be 
called on to do more. The shoots, at Uiis period of the life 
of the vine, should bear but one cluster apiece. The cluster 
nearest the arm will usually be found to be the largest and 
the best, and should be preserved. 

" It will be found easy, on the plan I have thus laid down, 
to get the first crop the third or fourth year. But when you 
begin to lay your plans for the succeeding crop the difficulty 
begins. In order to secure this, select a strong shoot from the 
main stem and train it up to and along the wire in a direction 
opposite to the canes that are bearing. In the autumn cut 
away all of the vine that has already borne fruit and turn your 
attention to this new cane, upon which you are to depend for 
your future supply. You will in this way find vourself with but 
one arm, as was the case at the close of the fourth year ; but 
the arm turns in the other direction. One year all the arms 
will run towards the south ; the next year they will all run 
towards the north ; the next year towards the south again. 
That is, the bearing arms grow one way and the growing arms 
the other ; they change places. The arm that has borne your 
crop being cut away, the remaining arm will bear the crop the 
next year, and you grow a new one on the other side for the 
succeeding year. You have one cane bearing a crop, and you 
have another cane that grows six feet for the crop of the next 
year. Vines managed in this way can be kept in bearing a 
great many years, especially if they are allowed at no time to 
bear more than a reasonable amount of fruit in any one season." 

The preservation of the grape is more difficult than its culti- 
vation. In a good season almost every cultivator can get a 
good crop ; but it is seldom that the best cultivator knows how 
to keep his cro]5. The best ]5lan is undoubtedly to place the 



GRAPE CULTURE. 473 

grapes on movable shelves in a cool fruit-house kept as near 
the temperature of forty degrees as possible. Some varieties 
keep much better than others, but the plan I have suggested 
Avill apply to almost all the varieties that are worth raising. It 
is unquestionably wise to market your grapes as early as pos- 
sible after gathering ; and it is also wise, as I think, in New 
England to waste no time in endeavoring to convert the juice 
of the grape into wine. A good wine grape does not grow here. 
Neither the soil nor the climate is adapted to the production of 
such varieties of grapes as produce the delicate wines of the 
Rhine, or the substantial and fruity juices of Spain and the 
south side of Madeira, or even of Ohio, Pleasant Valley, and 
California. Nor is there skill here in the manipulation of the 
grape for this purpose. I shall not discuss the various meth- 
ods of wine-making, for the reason that the details of the art 
can only be learned by experience, and an elaborate discussion 
of the subject during the space and time allowed me is impos- 
sible. But some statistics of the wine crop of several countries 
may be interesting to you, and I therefore venture to submit 
them. The wine product of the United States was in 1870 
nearly 8,000,000 gallons ; California alone making, as long ago 
as 1865, quite 2,000,000 gallons. In France, whose population 
does not much exceed that of our own country, the average 
production of wine is 884,000,000 gallons, worth at the press 
twenty-five cents a gallon, or $ 221,000,000 for the whole crop. 
The aggregate number of acres devoted to the grape in all 
Europe is 12,285,780 ; the aggregate annual crop is 3,107,039,000 
gallons, and the aggregate value of the crop is % 763,733,500, 
this last-named magnificent sum being the amount received by 
the producer, and it is safe to believe the value is doubled in 
the hands of the wine merchant. 

The insects and diseases which trouble the vine are numer- 
ous and not easily overcome. The modes of getting rid of the 
insects are attracting the parent moths to their fate in early 
summer by building bonfires in the vineyards, destroying at the 
first pruning all nests, webs, etc., and dusting the vines with 
sulphur-lime throughout the season ; and, as is necessary with 



474 THJ^ FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

the rose-bug, gathering them in sheets spread for the purpose, 
and then destroying them with fire or hot water. For the vine 
hopper, dust the leaves in June when the bug appears, with sul- 
phur and caustic lime, early in the morning. The same appli- 
cation when the dew is on will destroy the aphis, or louse. 
For the diseases which attack the vine a remedy may be found, 
or a prevention rather, in a dry, warm soil, proper pruning, and 
proper cultivation. The fungoid diseases can be removed by 
sulphur and lime, and so may the black rot. 

Mr. Dickerman in his lifetime gave us fourteen cautions in 
grape culture, as follows: "(i) Against using green manure, 
either in the preparation of the soil or after culture ; (2) against 
working the soil when wet, either in preparation or after cul- 
ture ; (3) against planting vines too shallow in light or gravelly 
soils, or too deep in heavy ones ; (4) against allowing second- 
ary roots to grow from the stem, above the original roots ; 
(5) against cutting any of the main roots in any of the opera- 
tions of culture ; (6) against covering the vines in the winter 
wholly with straw or barn-yard litter ; (7) against too late spring 
pruning after the sap has started ; (8) against putting down 
too long horizontal arms when the plants are not vigorous ; 

(9) against allowing young vines to bear beyond their ability ; 

(10) against letting laterals grow too long before pinching; 

(11) against letting the canes from the horizontal arms grow too 
long; (12) against allowing one cane to grow higher than an- 
other, unless the growth of wood is too rank, when one or two 
canes may be allowed near the main stem as safety-valves ; 
(13) against tying the vines too tightly; (14) against applying 
manure, except in the fall. If applied in the spring or summer 
it will produce a rank growth of wood which will not ripen 
before winter." 

It seems hardly necessary that I should give you a list of the 
desirable varieties of the grape when so many are constantly 
brought to your attention by all dealers, propagators, and specu- 
lators in vines. The Adirondack, Allen's Hybrid, Concord, Clin- 
ton, Colamba, Delaware, Diana, Hartford Prolific, lona, Isa- 
bella, Rogers' Hybrid, and the many favorites which the skill 



GRAPE CULTURE. 475 

of man and various soils and climates have produced, will fur- 
nish all the opportunities that can possibly be desired of sup- 
plying ourselves with this delicious fruit and of adding to the 
grace and culture of our farms. To you all, then, let me com- 
mend a reasonable culture of the grape. 

The address of Charles Ingalls seemed to be highly- 
acceptable to the Club, who, while they had but little 
knowledge of the subject, were nevertheless interested in 
the discussion of a branch of agriculture, or horticulture, 
which employed so many laborers and absorbed such a 
large amount of capital. The grape, too, had a sort of 
poetic interest to them, connected as it was with many 
familiar events in history, ancient and modern, and fes- 
tooning the trees which fringed the warm and sunny 
meadows with a tempting luxuriance of fruit, of which 
every boy claimed his inalienable share. 

"What a dreadful wine-drinking world this is!" moral- 
ized Moses Person, as he pondered on the figures which 
Charles had given of the manufacture and traffic in the 
juice of the grape. 

" Yes," said Dr. Parker, " and I learn there are those 
who look upon the trade as a great moral agent." 

"A great moral humbug," exclaimed Mr. Howe with 
unusual warmth, and turning" to the Doctor to see if his 
resolution still remained firm. The Doctor looked wholly 
unconscious, and simply turned to Squire Wright and 
suggested an adjournment and a walk home together. 
He seemed to think Fanny might expect them, and in this 
he was not far from right. An adjournment was voted, 
and as one by one the members of the Club departed, 
Mr. Hopkins beckoned to Charles Ingalls to remain, and 
sitting there long into the night, the old merchant told the 
tale of his early life in Jotham, and retraced with Charles 
the steps he had taken so often along the busy highways 



476 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

of trade in the great metropolis, hoping to hear from the 
young Squire, who had just grown familiar with its men 
and manners, something of this old friend and that whom 
he had not seen for so long a time, and about whom he 
dared not ask any questions, for fear that they might have 
entered upon the dark, mysterious journey. And as they 
sat there, the old man seemed to rejoice in the strength 
of his young friend, and in his own gently fading powers. 
When Charles left, Mr. Hopkins sent his love to Clara. 



IMPLEMENTS OF HUSBANDRY. 477 



THIRTY-FIRST MEETING. 

IMPLEMENTS OF HUSBANDRY. 

MR. HOPKINS DISCUSSES MOWING-MACHINES, PLOUGHS, ETC — THE 
CLUB DISPERSES SLOWLY. 

1 HE agricultural prosperity of Jotham was evidently 
increasing, either under the influence of the Club or under 
the Stimulus given it by the progressive and well-endowed 
operations of Mr. Hopkins, and the excellent market he 
had opened by his intimate relations with the business 
men of the neighboring city. The farm-buildings of the 
town were now kept in good repair, their conveniences, 
were greatly increased, and they were adorned with many 
articles of taste which gave them a cheerful and home-like 
appearance. And not only the buildings, but the tools 
and implements used by the farmers in their business, had 
improved in so marked a manner that it was deemed wise 
to set apart an evening for the discussion of the best mode 
of equipping a farm, and the economical care of those 
things which enter into the equipment. It was found to 
be a more difficult task than was anticipated ; and the 
committee, therefore, requested Mr. Hopkins to prepare 
an opening statement, relying on his judgment for advice 
in the selection of tools and machines, and on his honesty 
and independence to guide him to wise and just conclu- 
sions with regard to their comparative merit. 

When the Club assembled, and had been called to order, 
Mr. Hopkins announced the task he had undertaken, and 
proceeded at once to read his report, as he called it, upon 
the subject which had been referred to him. 



4/8 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 



MR. HOPKINS'S REPORT ON THE IMPLEMENTS OF 
HUSBANDRY. 

I am aware of the importance of the work which I have 
undertaken, and of my inability to perform it in a manner 
satisfactory to those whose practical experience in handling the 
tools of the farm is so much greater than my own. The strong 
and vigorous husbandman, engaged in the hard toil of primi- 
tive agriculture, may be somewhat indifferent to the form and 
weight of those implements which are placed in his hands. 
His strength and skill may be superior to all inventions, and 
regardless of all the graces of construction. But in our day, 
when every hour of toil must be turned to a good account in 
order to make that toil profitable, it becomes absoluiely neces- 
sary that man's physical forces should be strengthened, and 
his skill should be aided and encouraged by the application 
of the best mechanical laws to the instruments which he applies 
to his business. We have discussed almost all the practical 
operations of the farm, the methods of fertilization, the prepa- 
ration of the land, the care and harvesting of the crops, and I 
think we can now with the highest propriety consider the imple- 
ments with which these operations are carried on. 

Ploughs. — The most significant and the most important im- 
plement used by the husbandman is the plough. In the earliest 
days of agriculture it was simply a pole shod with iron, and 
bent at its lower extremity at an angle which would enable it 
to grub up the earth in a rude and simple way, for rude and 
simple cultivation. The earliest plough used in this country 
was hardly better than this ; and the ploughs used in Northern 
Italy to-day are so little in advance of it, that, were Virgil to 
reappear upon the earth, he would recognize in that land of the 
vine and the olive the same instrument which he describes so 
well in the Georgics. The progress of civilization, and of 
agriculture at least, may in fact be marked by the attempted 
and actual improvements made in the plough. And while it is 
the point upon which mechanical skill and ingenuity as applied 
to agriculture have failed more than on any other, it is still one 



IMPLEMENTS OF HUSBANDRY. 479 

on which sucli manifest improvements have been made that it 
may truly be said to be the representative implement of the 
world. 

I wish, gentlemen, I could say more for it than I can. We 
boast of the style and strength of our modern mould-boards, 
beams, land-sides and coulter ; but we have been thus far un- 
able to lay aside the primitive design of the rudest plough, and 
we have not yet been able to surpass, with all our mechanical 
skill, many individual specimens of a simpler and ruder con- 
struction. I wish I could say that we had left the general prin- 
ciple of the plough as a pulverizer of the earth behind us, and 
had secured for ourselves a more complete and competent 
implement, one capable of doing vastly more work than the 
plough can do with the same amount of power, and one the 
quality of whose performance does not depend on the skill and 
strength of him who guides it. The working of the plough 
depends to-day, as it always has, upon the skill of the plough- 
man. This should not be. We should be provided with an 
implement of pulverization which will work as well in my feeble 
and inexperienced hands as in the hands of a strong and able- 
bodied expert, who can overcome in a trial of ploughs because 
his arm is stronger, and his back is broader, and his step firmer 
than mine, and not because his plough is better. I doubt not 
that by the application of the best mechanical laws the plough 
as at present constructed has been brought to a high degree of 
excellence, — perhaps it may be nearly perfect. But it is excel- 
lent and perfect as a plough, and not as an implement of hus- 
bandry which has its own independent merit, and is valuable as 
a rapid and economical pulverizer, because it is not a plough, 
and is constructed upon a new and better principle. 

The premium ploughing of our agricultural fairs to-day is no 
better than it was fifty years ago. It may be that the superior 
skill and inferior implement of the olden time are able to accom- 
plish just what superior implements and inferior skill can perform 
m our day, and that in this way the balance is preserved. But 
this is not all. The plough itself was in some respects capable 
of doing as good work as any of its modern and improved 



48o 



THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 



descendants. The best ploughman I ever knew lived in this 
town a half-century ago ; and I think he owned the best plough 
I ever saw, — along, low, rakish jolough, with a wooden mould- 
board, and a broad land-side, so constructed that it held its 
place in the furrow, and so substantially founded that it could 




lift its furrow-slice without calling in the aid of him who fol- 
lowed it. This plough may have been an accident ; and so are 
many of the improved ploughs of our own day. The plough- 
man may have been an accident also ; and so are many of those 



IMPLEMENTS OF HUSBANDRV. 



4S1 



whom we now know. And is it not evident to you all that we 

should have gone beyond the range of accident in these days of 

mechanical improvement, and have reached the fixed and 

established fact ? 

Now if we are to be compelled to confine ourselves to the 

plough as an implement of pulverization, is there no definite 

law of construction which will give us a plough good in all soils 

and in all hands ? There 

ought to be. And yet this 

whole question of construc- 
tion is so involved that 

no two ingenious inventors 

agree. One will tell you 

that you cannot get a plough 

properly through the land 

except on the principle of 

the concave. Another will 
tell you that the best pul- 
verizing plough in the 
world is built upon the 
principle of the convex. 
And it is a curious and 
striking fact that two 
ploughs, one eminently 
concave and the other emi- 
nently convex, working in 
the same soil will produce 
precisely the same results 
and will be attended by 
precisely the same defects. 
One inventor devotes him- 
self to the land-side, an- 
other to the mould-board, 
another to the angle of the 
handles, another to the centre-draught; and while all their ploughs 
differ, they all agree in this, that they will all work in the same 
manner, and that they all depend on the skill of the holder. 







482 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

Not a plough but has its advocates ; not a plough but has its 
admirers. 

Now is there no such thing as an exact and proper balance 
between the two sides of the plough, the land-side and the 
mould-board ? Is there no such thing as a land side which will 
enable a feeble-backed man to keep his plough at work prop- 
erly and prevent the necessity of his holding a great solid fur- 
row, say twelve by twelve, wholly by the strength of his loins ? 
Is there no mould-board which bears a well-balanced relation to 
a land-side like this? Cannot the advocates of these two im- 
portant points of the plough learn of each other, and so make 
their combination as to provide us with the perfect implement ? 
Preserve, then, the balance, and remembering that the draught is 
not increased by the length and breadth of the land-side, make 
this portion of the plough the foundation upon which the entire 
structure may rest. Then may you adopt the concave or the 
convex form of the mould-board as suits your taste, confident 
that either, when properly combined, will do its work well. I 
have examined most of the popular ploughs, and I have found 
that all those which were most widely esteemed have this char- 
acteristic. There may be ploughs with short and imperfect 
land-sides which will work well in certain localities, but their 
sphere is usually circumscribed. And whether it be the Tele- 
graph or the Doe Plough, or Allen's Cylinder Plough, or the 
Deep Tiller, or the Conical Plough of Mead, or the Lion, or the 
Eagle, or Hoi brook's Ploughs, the plough which satisfies the 
most ploughmen and does the best work is that which is held 
steadily in the soil by a capacious mould-board. 

Of gang-ploughs and steam-ploughs I shall say nothing, be- 
cause they are inapplicable to our work and are yet in an imper- 
fect condition, except for the broad work of the plantation and 
the prairie. That I can say nothing also of spaders I most sin- 
cerely regret, for we have no implement of this kind which is 
entitled to consideration. If any inventor therefore would im- 
mortalize his name and be hailed as a public benefactor, let him 
invent a spader which will turn up and pulverize six or seven 
acres a day to the depth of eight inches, and can be drawn by a 



IMPLEMENTS OF HUSBANDRY. 



483 



pair of farm horses. His fortune and renown would be estab- 
lished at once. 

Harrows. — The harrow is an implement which has received 
many modifications, and not many improvements. The trian- 
gular harrow, of various sizes, has for many years been suffi- 
cient for all the purposes of the farm, and has, almost from time 
immemorial, finished the work of yjulverization begun by the 
plough in all its varieties. Recently some improvements have 
been introduced. Geddes's harrows, consisting of two halves 
hinged upon each other, is very convenient for uneven land, and 
as usually constructed is of a size well suited to horses. It 
is armed with the 
common, straight, 
iron harrow-tooth. 
This, and in fact 
all straight-toothed 
harrows, are adapt- 
ed to the work re- 
quired on well- 
tilled and puh^er- 
ized land, free from 
sod ; and they may 

be used with advantage in preparing such land for root crops 
and for the sowing of grain and grass-seed in the spring. For 
sod-land, however, the harrow known as Shares's is to be pre- 
ferred. Armed as it is with a series of coulters so inclined as 
to avoid all clogging with grass-roots and sods, it pulverizes 
the surface most admirably, and at the same time levels the 
sod which has been upturned by the plough. For seeding 
lands in the autumn, and for preparing new corn land in the 
spring, this harrow is invaluable. 

My opinion is that all straight-toothed harrows should be so 
light as to be easily drawn by horses. The slow motion of 
oxen is unfit for work of this description unless it be when 
applied to Shares's harrow for the preparation of new land. 
Harrowing, to be effectual, should be done lightly and rapidly. 

Horsc-Hocs and Cultivators are numerous and generally con- 




484 



TJriE FARM- YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 



venient and useful. I have on my farm a Scotch implement of 
this kind, sent me by a friend in the old country, which is pro- 
vided with a set of hoes and also a set of weeders, and which I 
have found very useful in cleansing the land and in cultivating 




HORSE-HOE. 



root crops and the crops of the garden. I use my cultivators 
frequently among all my hoed crops, and both they and myself 
find it to be of great advantage. 

In my search for seed-sowers and weeding-hoes I have found 
a great variety and many good ones. The simplest I have 




SEED-SOWER. 



found to be the best ; and with this rule you can hardly go 
amiss in your purchases. In fact, I find the hand implements 



IMPLEMENTS OE HUSBANDRY. 



485 



of the farm so well, so economically made now, that I congratu- 
late myself and you upon the great advantage we enjoy over 
our ancestors, who were obliged to content themselves with 
rude, heavy, home-made implements, and with the hard labor 
which went with them. 'J'his was when it was by no means 
easy to equip a farm with strong, useful, and convenient tools at 
any price. But now shovels, and manure-forks, and hay-forks, 
and rakes, and spades, and yokes, and chains, and crowbars, 
and pickaxes, of the best quality, are easily and cheaply 
obtained. 




EXPANDING CULTIVATOR. 

But it is in construction of machinery for the heavy work 
of the farm that we in our day especially excel. The invention 
of the mowing-machine marks as important an era in the 
world of agriculture as the printing-press did in the world of 
letters. Introduced into this country but a quarter of a century 
ago, and brought to a reasonable degree of perfection less than 
fifteen years ago, it has become an indispensable part of the 
machinery of every well-organized farm. Rude and imperfect 
in the beginning, it has been improved and strengthened, until 
at last it has reached a degree of perfection which makes it as 
compact and trustworthy and well organized as a steam-engine. 



486 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

For this we are indebted to some of the best mechanics in our 
country. Beginning with Ketchum's mower, in 1S50, a ma- 
chine of such doubtful value that few farmers were induced to 
lay aside their scythes and adopt it, the work of inventing, 
improving, and constructing lias gone on until it would be 
difficult to enumerate the valuable machines with which the 
market is crowded. The scarcity and high cost of labor, and 
the increasing amount of hay cut and consumed throughout 
the country, created an imperative necessity for a reliable 
mower, until in 1855 the spirit of invention was fairly aroused 
and machines began to multiply. Ketchum and McCormick 
were almost forgotten, and the leading agricultural societies 
in our country began to offer such liberal rewards, that the 
number of inventions increased with great rapidity. At the 
great trial instituted by the New York Agricultural Society, in 
1857, at Syracuse, more than forty mowers and reapers were 
brought together, all giving eviilence of vast improvement in 
the work of cutting both grain and coarse and fine grass, over 
all predecessors. At the second trial of this society at Au- 
burn in 1866, the number of machines was largely increased,, 
and their value was found to have largely multiplied. The 
principle upon which a machine could be made to cut grass 
systematically, thoroughly, and steadily had evidently been dis- 
covered ; and when, in 1869, the New England Agricultural 
Society organized its great trial at Amherst, Massachusetts, it 
was found impossible to determine the relative value of the 
machines, except by dividing them into groups. The Buckeye 
here retained the high position it won at Syracuse and Auburn, 
and found strong competitors in the same class with itself, in 
the American, the Clipper, and the Kniffen. Since that time 
these machines have been greatly improved ; and their light, 
compact, ornamented frames form not only a useful but an 
ornamental object in the hay-field. At home and abroad has 
the value of American mowers and reapers been recognized ; 
and while on our own shores an army of inventors has won an 
honorable distinction in this work, the names of McCormick 
and Walter A. Wood are remembered still in foreign lands for 



IMPLEMENTS OF HUSBANDRY. 



487 



the admirable machinery which they exhibited and for the hi'di 
prizes which they bore away. 

As with the mowers, so has it been with the reapers. Real- 
izing the importance of providing for the harvesting of nearly 
200,000,000 bushels of wheat annually in a rapid and economi- 
cal manner, the same ingenuity as was applied to the mower 




A MOWING-MACHINE. 

was applied also to the reaper, and the work of cutting anc? 
harvesting the grain is as easy as driving a pair of hordes on 
a smooth highway. 

As a rule, buy a mower which cuts a swath four feet in width, 
— a wider swath racks the machine and exhausts the moving 
power ; and buy a reaper which cuts five and a half feet. 

Dickerman lays down the following rules for the purchase, 
care, and use of mowers and reapers, namely : — 

(i) Buy the best. It will be the cheapest in the end. 

(2) Buy it early, so as to be sure you have the one you wish, and 
not find, just as you are ready to begin, that you cannot i^et the one 
you intended to buy. 

(3) When attaching the horses, see that the knives are in a hori- 
zontal postion, neither pointed up or down. This secures a smooth, 
even stubble. 



4S8 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOT HAM. 

(4) See that the nuts are all turned tight. The manufacturers are 
•often obliged to tinish a part of their machines some months before 
the time for using them, and all wood is liable to shrink a little. 

(5) Buy the very best sperm oil, if possible. Poor oil will be sure 
to gum up. If you cannot get sperm oil, kerosene and castor oil 
mixed, one third of the former and two thirds of the latter, will answer 
a good purpose. 

(6) Keep the bearings well oiled, also the buttons which hold the 
knives down to the plates in the fingers. 

(7) Keep the knives sharp all the time. Take both scythes into 
the field sharp, and once an hour or so rub the edges with a sharp 
gritted whetstone ; this saves sweating your horses, and the wear 
upon the machine, and leaves the field looking as if you understood 
your business. Use the scythes about equally, as they fit and work 
the better for it. 

(8) Keep the buttons down as close to the cutter as possible, and 
have the scythes play easily. They are made of malleable iron and 
will bear pounding, but in long use they are apt to wear loose. 
Examine them frequently, and as they wear, rap them down with a 
hammer, so as to keep the edge of the cutters in close contact with 
the edge of the steel plates in the fingers. You might as well expect 
to cut wet paper with a dull, loose-jointed pair of scissors as to cut 
grass with dull scytbes not in their proper position. 

(9) When the cutters become worn to a point, and begin to grow 
shorter, have new ones put on ; it is the poorest economy to use 
them so ; like using a worn-out plough-point. 

(10) Examine your machine carefully as soon as haying or reaping 
is over, and if it needs any repairs send it at once to the manufacturer, 
unless you can replace the parts wanted yourself He has time in the 
fall, before beginning to turn out machines for the next season, to 
attend to it faithfully, and you save much vexation, and perhajDS loss, 
which might occur if this is neglected till spring. 

(11) If the machine needs no repairing, take out the knives, wipe 
them clean, and then rub them over with an oily rag to prevent rust- 
ing. Oil the fingers and remove the pole and bar, put the bar and 
scythe in a dry place, clean your machine thoroughly, and keep it dry 
and clean through the winter. 

If these suggestions are not heeded, do not blame the manu- 
facturer if your machine wears out. 

Of Tedders., Horse-Rakes and Horse-Forks it is hardly neces- 



IMPLEME.XTS OF HU SUA A DRY. 



489 



sary for me to discourse at any length. The tedder, an imple- 
ment originally introduced from England, has been modified 
and improved until it has become quite convenient and useful ; 
and when properly applied it facilitates the work of hay-making 
to a very great degree. The American hay-tedder is a valuable 
machine. Horse-rakes abound, and since they have all adopted 
the spring tooth they vary but little in point of excellence, and 




HORSE HAY-RAKE. 



are all open to the objection to which this form of tooth is open. 
I hope we shall one day see a better plan of construction 
throughout. Of the numerous Horse-Forks, by means of which 
hay can be rapidly unloaded in the barn, I can only say that 
after having used several, with all the arrangements of hooks in 
the rafters, and pulleys and ropes along the barn floor, and an 
obedient horse at the end of the rope, I have found that my 
men much preferred unloading my hay bv hand. They may be 
mistaken ; but each one of you can try the experiment for him- 
self, and learn which process he would prefer. 

In selecting Threshing-Machines, Coni-Shellers, Hay-Cutters, 
and Root-Cutters take the advice of an honest and trustworthy 
dealer in whose capacity to select you can have entire con- 
fidence. 



490 



THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 




ROOT-CUTTER. 



The care of the tools, implements, and vehicles of a farm is 

an important part of 
the business of the 
farmer. A tool-house 
or a convenient tool- 
room every farmer 
should have so ar- 
ranged that the light 
tools can be hung upon 
the walls, and the heav- 
ier implements can be 
conveniently located 
along the floor. Have 
a place for everything 
and everything in its 
place. Once a year 
• give your carts, 
ploughs, harrows, 
mowing - machines, 
hand implements of every description, tedders, horse-rakes, and 
your yokes and harnesses, 
a thorough examination ; 
and start in the spring with 
all these things in good 
order. And remember that 
a small supply of carpen- 
ter's tools, with a few black- 
smith's hammers, wrenches, 
and pincers, will enable you 
to save a great deal of time 
and expense in the neces- 
sary repairs of vehicles, 
implements, and farm- 
buildings. A finely cul 
tivated field is a delight 
to my eyes ; but a well- 
ordered collection of the implements of every description re- 



r 




HOfllJi^i^ 



CORN-SHELLER. 



IMPLEMENTS OF HUSBANDRY. 49 1 

quired on a farm indicates a capacity for managing and arranging 
the operations there wiiich commands my respect. 

Before closing my remarks I desire to call your attention to 
the interesting history of the estabhshment of agricultural ware- 
houses for the sale of tools, implements, and seeds in this coun- 
try. In 1845 there died in the town of Chelsea, in Massachu- 
setts, Mr. Charles Willis, who is entitled to the credit of having 
founded this branch of business here, and perhaps in the world. 
It was he who in 1820 joined with Mr. Joseph R. Newhall in 
organizing a warehouse of this description in North Market 
Street, Boston. Of this enterprise, and of Mr. Willis, Mr. 
Charles P. Bosson, one of the brightest agricultural writers in 
our day, says : " The business was new and untried ; in the 
minds of many chimerical, and there were many prejudices to 
overcome. But, as we have before intimated, Mr. Willis was 
just the man to meet and grapple with those prejudices, and to 
carry out what was then but an experiment to a triumphant 
issue. This was the first agricultural warehouse established in 
the country, if not in the world. Certainly nothing like it had 
ever before been heard of in Great Britain or in France. It was 
established for the sale of improved agricultural implements and 
machines, and for the sale of improved seeds. Its success, 
small at first, speedily increased. It gave a wonderful impetus 
to the inventive genius of our countrymen in the direction of 
agricultural machines. The Boston agricultural warehouse was 
quoted the country over. It was one of the curiosities of the 
city, and was by many regarded as the most interesting exhibi- 
tion the city afforded. Eminent men from abroad visited it ; 
many came expressly to see it. General Jackson, Clay, the 
celebrated Davy Crockett, and others of less note paid special 
visits to it. And the writer of this sketch distincdy remembers 
to have heard the old hero of New Orleans address Mr. Willis 
in language of high and flattering eulogy on the success he had 
achieved in conducting an institution so important to the great 
interest of the country to such a pitch of prosperity. Alluding 
in this connection to his own military career, he said : ' Mr. 
Willis, peace hath her triumphs no less than war, and this is 



492 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

one of them. They who are devoting their lives to the advance- 
ment of the great cause of agriculture, as you are doing, deserve 
the gratitude of their country.' And Mr. Bosson also tells us 
that Colonel Pickering, Thomas Green Fessenden, the Hon. 
John Lowell, Gorham Parsons, General H. A. S. Dearborn, and 
others like them high in civil and military life, all friends of 
agriculture and lovers of the soil, were his warm friends and 
patrons in this useful and honorable enterprise." 

I beg your pardon. Gentlemen, for having occupied your time 
with so long and dull an essay on a dry and somewhat uninter- 
esting subject. I must confess to a certain fondness for all 
those implements which are employed in the business of farm- 
ing, and to a certain respect for them, as we survey with ad- 
miration the very tools themselves of him who excels in any art 
in life. If I am not a great farmer I can at least respect those 
who are, and I may be reminded by the instruments which they 
use of the pleasures and profits and honors of their occupation. 
I gaze with delight upon the camp equipage of a great com- 
mander; and I turn also with delight to the contemplation of 
those implements which a great farmer employs in his calling. 
I am sure you will bear, therefore, with my prolonged, perhaps 
tedious, perhaps even garrulous remarks ; for, in addition to my 
sense of the importance of the subject, I have a feeling that 
having explored with you almost all the topics which can occupy 
the mind of an intelligent farmer in the conduct of his affairs, at 
least all the topics upon which I have any information, I shall 
not again address you so elaborately as I have done this even- 
ing. I shall undoubtedly leave the discussion of future ques- 
tions to others, and shall be obliged, as the hand of Time presses 
more and more heavily upon me, to listen to the talk of those 
into whose care and keeping I shall Intrust the interests of the 
•Club when I am gone. 

When Mr. Hopkins had finished his speech there was 
no inclination to discuss the subject which he had appar- 
ently exhausted. John Thomas would gladly have enlarged 
on the theory of the plough and the attempts made to 



IMPLEMENTS OF HUSBANDRY. 493 

improve it by such eminent men as Thomas Jefferson, 
Colonel Knox, and Governor Holbrook of Vermont ; Sam 
Barker had a long story to tell about the profits of a peri- 
patetic threshing-machine ; William Jones would have ex- 
pressed his opinion upon the merits of a self-sharpening 
hay-cutter for stable use ; and Moses Person had a strong 
desire to call up the glories of the hay-field, whose platoons 
of mowers armed with the scythe, and the music of whose 
rifles had been the delight of his boyhood, and had fur- 
nished a sphere of action for the power of his manly muscle. 
But they were all hushed by the closing remarks of Presi- 
dent Hopkins, who by his liberality and kindness and good 
sense had won his way into all their hearts, and who evi- 
dently felt as they did when they contemplated his shrink- 
inor form, that old ajre and the cares and anxieties of his 
early life were at last telling upon the powers once so vig- 
orous and strong. 

John Thomas moved an adjournment, which was carried, 
but which did not disperse the members. They lingered 
about the room conversing with each other, evidently 
reluctant to leave the spot where they had enjoyed so 
much bright hospitality, and where they had learned the 
value of courtesy and kindness in cheering and smoothing 
the path of life. The warning that the association with 
their venerable President must erelong cease oppressed 
them. Not a man there but could recall a kind word or 
deed of him whose very name reminded them of the best 
personal history of the town, and whose presence had 
called up before their minds the high precepts of life 
which had been taught them and their fathers by a worthy 
and pious line of spiritual teachers and guides, known from 
the earliest days as the Lord's anointed. And it was not 
with heavy and saddened, but with purified and exalted 
hearts that they bade the President good night and de- 
parted. Mr. Howe returned to his home with new faith 



494 i'Hi^ FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

to cheer the path of her whose health was now faiUng 
under her patient and wearing performance of the duties 
of a minister's wife. John Thomas sought his Huldah 
with new devotion and a warmer determination to dis- 
charge his duty well. William Jones strode solemnly 
home with honest resolutions filling his mind and heart. 
Charles Ingalls returned rejoicing to Clara and his humble 
abode and his books, and it was as when the mild spring 
wind bloweth upon the earth and the soft and vernal life 
moves therein with its beauty and its strength, that the 
warning words of the old man roused, as to a new exist- 
ence, the gentle and tender qualities which slumbered in 
the hearts of his companions. 



THE SMALLER ANIMALS OE THE EARM. 495 



THIRTY-SECOND MEETING. 

THE SMALLER ANLMALS OE THE EARM. 

DK PARKER AND MARGARET ILSLEY. — SQUIRE WRIGHT IN 
TROUBLE. — FANNY UNDISTURBED AND CONFIDENT. 

r'ANNY," said Squire Wright, as he took his seat at 
the tea-table, at the close of a mild and sunny day in 
early April, a day full of spring-time promise, " has Dr. 
Parker been here to-day .'' " 

"No," replied Fanny, with an anxious look. " I haven't 
seen him for two or three days. When he was last here 
he seemed to be in trouble ; and he said, as he left, late at 
night, that he was going early in the morning to meet 
Dr. Frost in consultation, nine or ten miles away. I don't 
remember exactly where." 

" O, he finished that long ago," said the Squire. 
*' Jones saw him, day before yesterday, over at the old 
Ilsley place, standing looking at the few relics of the fire 
still left, in a sort of brown-study, his horse tied to the 
fence, and that little girl, Margaret, whom John Thomas 
adopted that horrid night when the house was burned, 
holding fast to his hand and crying as if her heart would 
break." 

" Why, I thought the child was as happy as possible," 
said Fanny. " But Dr. Parker has never forgotten that 
fire. It seems to haunt him. The thought that almost 
an entire family was struck out of existence in an instant 
has apparently held painful possession of his mind ever 
since the event happened. I never knew he had any 
special interest in Peter Ilsley ; but certain it is that 



496 



THE FA RM^ YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 



Peter's death and Margaret's life are always in his memory. 
He was n't related to the family, was he, papa ? " 

" Not in any way to speak of, I think," said the Squire ; 
and Fanny felt his eye fixed on her with a gaze which she 
did not understand, and which was so quickly withdrawn 
that she hardly felt sure that it was a gaze at all. 
" The child is very bright, I hear," said Fanny. 
"Yes," said the Squire, "and very inscrutable. John 
Thomas told me the other day that she was the most 

mysterious person 
he ever knew. He 
says she is always 
obedient, — obeys 
in an instant ; but 
always seems as 
if she had a right 
to take command. 
She never lies, but 
you always feel 
that she tells no 
more than she 
means to. She is 
affectionate, but 
not as a child is 
affectionate ; is 
kind to those who 
are kind to her, 
but never demonstrates. Thomas says 
she knows no such thing as fear ; wanders 
away in the dark, as if she loved its solitude. And while 
she has a half-wild and uncultivated side, is at the same 
time filled with a spirit and bearing and natural grace 
which evidently belong to an educated line. It is evident 
that neither Thomas nor his wife understands the child, 
and that they are both afraid of her." 




DR PARKER AND MARGARET 
VIEWING THE RUINS. 



THE SMALLER ANLMALS OF THE FARilL. 497 

" What was her mother's name ? " asked Fanny. 

" Margaret," replied the Squire. 

"Margaret what?" asked Fanny, with a sharp and 
sudden energy. 

"Margaret Munroe," answered the Squire. And Fanny 
turned away with an air of indifference, and with a des- 
perate purpose to conceal all appearance of emotion. 

" Did you know her, papa .'' " asked Fanny. 

" O yes," said the Squire ; " very well. She was very 
handsome when she first came to Jotham to teach the 
summer school in the Pond District. I don't remember 
where she came from. She taught here awhile, just 
before young Parker went to Europe to study medicine, 
and married Peter Ilsley while he was gone, and for 
what, nobody knew ; for we all thought she might have 
done better. But so it was. The old doctor never seemed 
quite easy about that marriage." 

" Does this child, Margaret, look like her mother .^ " 
asked Fanny. 

" Yes, very much," said the Squire. " Margaret Munroe 
had blue eyes, as blue as the sky, and light hair. The 
child has eyes colder and a little less blue, with fair hair 
and the mother's expression, only the mother had a face 
full of ardent affection, which the child has not. The 
mother had — " 

" Did she look like that ? " eagerly asked Fanny, as she 
drew from her bosom a little worn daguerreotype, and 
thrust it with startling emphasis into the face of her 
father. ' 

" Like that ! " exclaimed the Squire, seizing the rude 
and dingy miniature, and adjusting his eyes after the con- 
fusion into which they had been thrown by Fanny's im- 
petuosity. " Like that ! When } How .'' Wliat is this .'' 
Margaret Munroe, as I live ; but where on earth did you 
get it } " 

32 



498 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

" I picked it up on the floor, papa, the other night, after 
Dr. Parker had left: and see here, what a deUghtful 
memento it is," said Fanny, as she opened the back of the 
case and disclosed a little locket of intertwined hair, light 
and brown, confined there in loving embrace, and sur- 
rounded by a thin gold band, on which were inscribed the 
letters M. and W. 

" Confound the little telltale thing," said the Squire, 
with a sharp, hissing laugh of disappointment and dis- 
gust. 

" O no, not so, papa," said Fanny, with her rich and 
ringing voice tuned now to an expression of determination, 
mingled with deep chagrin and a little anger. " Dr. 
Parker has told one half the story, and this little memento 
has only told the rest. But, papa, not a word ; I can work 
out of this ; but not a word. I can bear the thing itself, 
but I cannot bear the public knowledge of it. Do you 
think the people know Dr. Parker as well as you and I do, 
papa ? " 

" Know what, my dear ? " said the Squire. " Dr. Parker 
has his ins and his outs, I suppose, and is in good order one 
day, and in bad order the next. But I believe he behaves 
very well now ; and I think he is quite an ornament to the 
town. Mr. Howe thinks very well of him ; Deacon Thomas 
has a very high opinion of him ; and, in fact, I have n't heard 
a word against him for years. In one respect I know he is 
thoroughly reformed. And a very good citizen he is, I am 
sure." 

" But, papa, all this won't do," said Fanny. " A man 
with a history and a daguerreotype is no man for me. 
* Better is a dinner of herbs where love is, than a stalled 
ox and hatred therewith.' I am glad you think so well 
of Dr. Parker. I hope he '11 be a father to poor little 
Margaret. Then he will have his little girl, and I will 
have my little boy. But more than this, — I do not 



THE SMALLER ANIMALS OF THE FARM. 499 

want to think of it. And then you know, papa, I am 
very happy with you, and mamma, and the boy. I 
don't think I have very good luck in this world ; do you, 
papa } " 

The Squire was quite uneasy under the random fire of 
Fanny, who was in a state of intense excitement over her 
•sudden realization of the complicated condition of Dr. 
Parker, and of her own failure to reach that sphere of 
thought and feeling without which woman's life grows cold 
and hard and commonplace and unsatisfactory. She was 
roused to a consciousness of her blessed possibilities, just 
in time, as she thought, to see them vanish beyond her 
reach ; and she rushed from the presence of her father, 
who had simply tormented her with respectable sugges- 
tions and icy compliments, when she needed assurances 
of fidelity and love. She fled to her own room, and there 
recalled her life, its weaknesses, its disappointments ; won- 
dered whether these were due to her own character or to 
accidental circumstances ; began to realize the difference 
between an impulse and an inspiration, between the great 
reality of love and the emptiness of a desire for station and 
home ; thought upon the wide-spread heaven in which 
Clara Bell seemed to be passing her life, and the narrow 
and artificial structure in which she was passing her own ; 
and prayed in her agony and despair for a new and loftier 
nature to support her in her trials, to solve the difficult 
problems of her life, and to elevate and purify those who 
were brought under her influence, and him who claimed 
a place in her heart. She rose from her struggle more of 
a woman than she had ever yet been ; more of a mother ; 
and with a more thorough understanding of the tone and 
spirit with which a woman must surround herself, in order 
to be true to herself and able to discharge her duties to 
those who depend upon her care and affection. Her life 
passed rapidly before her, and when she remembered her 



500 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

own mistakes she became more ready to forgive the mistakes 
of her friends ; and as she studied now the imperative 
demands of her own heart, she learned also the mistakes 
and failures which may fall upon those whose sensitive and 
loving natures require response and support. She found 
that she could hate no one for his wayward affections ; and 
she was filled with inexpressible tenderness, not all love 
alone, toward Dr. Parker, as she recalled the incidents of 
his life, which pointed to a great, warm, manly heart, beat- 
ing with the full-flowing tides of intense life beneath that 
calm and subdued exterior. Even the miniature which 
had roused her to such sudden passion she now began to 
contemplate with a tender regard ; and she pondered with 
peculiar emotion upon the bond which existed between 
the disappointed lover and the child who alone remained 
to remind him of the rosy hours of his early life. And it 
was not until her mother returned home with " the boy," 
whom she had accompanied to a neighbor's for a long 
afternoon's visit and a tea-drinking, that Fanny came back 
to her actual life, and with deeper knowledge of herself 
and him whom she loved. She even turned a kindly 
thought toward the little Margaret. And she wondered 
more and more at the slumbering secrets of the mysterious 
Dr. Parker. 

Squire Wright was sorely perplexed. He was an old 
man now, and had all an old man's chilled and withered 
views of the path of human life. He had long since for- 
gotten the blooming Margaret, who taught the district 
school and married Peter Ilsley so many years ago. He 
had forgotten that Dr. Parker ever knew her, until his eye 
fell upon the dingy little daguerreotype ; and he was sud- 
denly frightened into a defence of Dr. Parker when he 
needed no defence at all. He came to the conclusion that 
the workings of a young woman's mind and heart are too 
much for an old man to comprehend, and in his confusion 



THP: i,MALLER AiYIMALS OF THE FARM. 501 

and perplexity he betook himself to his office, — a thing he 
had not done before in the evening hours for many months, 
— with the hope that by rummaging among his law books 
he might turn his mind from a subject which had long ago 
become unfamiliar to him. 

When he reached his office he found that Charles 
Ingalls had not yet left it ; and that he was engaged, 
after a long day of hard work, in preparing himself for 
an intricate and difficult case which was coming on at 
the next term of the court. Charles was greatly surprised 
at seeing the Squire ; and the Squire was evidently 
surprised at finding Charles at work there at so late an 
hour. 

" Well, young man," said he, " this is the usual hour 
for play ; and I know you have temptations enough else- 
where." 

" I work first," said Charles, " and then I turn my atten- 
tion to what you call 'play' and 'temptations elsewhere.' 
But Dr. Parker has kept me here longer than usual this 
evening. He was in a curious frame of mind, and asked 
me to draw up papers of adoption for himself and little 
Margaret Ilsley, who was saved from the fire and has been 
so kindly cared for by John and Mrs. Thomas. I asked 
him what he was going to do with her, and he flamed up 
like a volcano, and said he was going to take care of her. 
I have never seen him so restless, not even in the worst 
■days of his worst habits. He said something about the 
world deserting him, and his disappointments, and about 
going to Europe to lay his bones. Something has stirred 
his depths fearfully." 

"O, it must be the morbid effects of his profession," said 
the Squire, " in which the more you know the less you 
know, and in which the student finds every disease of 
mind and body in himself. It is bad enough to be a phy- 
sician ; but to be a bright one, with doubtful and uncertain 



502 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

habits, in a country village, without a wife and family,, 
must be worse than being in hell itself." 

Charles did not see this exactly, and he began to think 
that Squire Wright was in as unsettled a mental condition 
as the Doctor. But he ventured to suggest, by way of 
consolation and encouragement to the Squire, that the 
Doctor would undoubtedly soon find his way out of one 
part of his dilemma at least ; " although," said he, " the 
Doctor did hint at the impossibility of his ever being 
married, and of mustering courage enough to go through 
the trying ceremony." 

" Heaven help poor Fanny if he is going to behave in 
that way ! " said the Squire. " But this adoption business 
I don't know about. What can the Doctor expect to do 
with such a mysterious child } He '11 find the boy is all he 
can manage." 

" Now, Squire," said Charles, " I think I would have 
nothing to do with that matter, if I were you. You will 
pardon me for being frank about it. But the Doctor and 
Fanny are of age, and ought to know what they are doing. 
Besides, love makes its own channels, and asks for no 
outside aid. I do pity them both. They have started 
badly on the journey. Still, they will come out right, I 
dare say." 

" You 're a young philosopher," said the Squire. 

"Clara is my philosopher," replied Charles. "When I 
follow her advice, and accept her wisdom, I am not far out 
of the way. I tell you. Squire, it is a good thing for a man 
to find his mate early." 

" But do you think the Doctor is going to abandon 
Fanny .-' " said the anxious and thrifty old gentleman. 

" No, I don't," said Charles. " Dr. Parker improves 
every day, and you can see it. If he moved on with an 
indifferent air, and not above a commonplace method, I 
should despair of him. But it requires a good deal of a 



THE SMALLER ANIMALS OF THE FARM. 503 

storm to clear his sky, and I am sure he keeps up all the 
storm that is necessary." 

" Did you ever hear anybody say he was in love with 
Peter Ilsley's wife before Peter married her?" said the 
Squire, hesitatingly, as if dreading the answer. 

" Good heavens ! no," said Charles. " I never heard of 
such a thing, and never thought of it." 

'• Well, I don't know as he was," said the Squire, trying 
to shelter himself behind an assumed ignorance, and hop- 
ing to lead Charles's mind entirely away from the idea 
that such a thing was possible, after having relieved his 
own feeble fears of drawing out a denial from Charles 
himself " I should be sorry to suppose he sought a wife 
in that circle before turning his attention to my family. 
The Wrights are a very old family in this town, I suppose 
you know, Charles." 

" O yes," said Charles, laughing ; "and so are the Bells, — 
five generations of millers in one mill. Clara showed me 
an old teaspoon, the other day, that Peter Bell brought 
over in the Arbella, the first ship for Naumkeag." 

The Squire now became garrulous and cheerful. He 
had escaped from the heated air of excitement and passion, 
and had found relief in the healthy and bracing atmos- 
phere of a sensible young man, who had mind enough to 
keep his professional business in capital order, and heart 
enough to present his dearest relations in all their blessed- 
ness and strength. He grew very talkative over the 
events of his own family, how the law had been their 
favorite study for generations, and how highly respectable 
they had been, even under adverse circumstances. They 
had always been a very steady family, free from weak 
ambition and eccentricities of all sorts. " We have been 
very proper people always," said he ; and he added with 
an air of triumph, seeing that Charles was preparing to 
close the office and go home, " No member of our family 



504 THE FARM- YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

was ever guilty of such a breach of etiquette as to live in 
the same house with his lady-love before marriage." 

Charles thought that the Squire was coming down to 
pretty small talk, and he felt amused and quite upset by 
the trivial condition into which the venerable old lawyer 
had brought his mind, by plunging into an untried sea of 
annoyances ; and he added, with a half-sheepish air, as if 
he had been caught in an act of petty meanness : " I can- 
not leave Mrs. Bell and Clara ; they could not possibly get 
on without me. Perhaps it isn't just the thing, however." 
And then the old Squire and the young one closed the 
office, and strolled along together in the moonlight towards 
their respective homes ; the old one to rejoice in the 
respectability which he had inherited, and the young one 
to rejoice in the prospect before him of establishing his 
own family respectability for himself And yet, thought 
he, puerile respectability often weighs more in this world 
than mature and masculine wisdom unaided by station. 
The old Squire reached his home and his nightly repose ; 
the young Squire reached his home to enjoy that radiant 
hour which, in the stillness of night, ends the lover's 
day. 

The old man's repose was unbroken through the night, 
and his troubles were wellnigh forgotten when morning 
came ; and when he considered what the nature of the 
difficulties was, he was glad enough to take Charles's 
advice and leave Dr. Parker and Fanny to work out their 
own problem, while he undertook to prepare a paper, at 
the request of Mr. Howe and John Thomas, on the Smaller 
Animals of the Farm. 

SQUIRE WRIGHT'S ESSAY. 

Sheep. — In discussing the smaller animals of the farm, Mr. 
President, I shall begin with sheep, whose relations to the agri- 



THE SMALLER ANL\TALS OE THE FARM. 505 

culture of this country I have studied with some degree of care, 
and whose management I have observed both on my own farm 
and in that section of the West where, as you know, I have 
passed a year or two of my life. I cannot expect, in the brief 
time allowed me, to consider the relation and care of these ani- 
mals with any degree of minuteness ; but I shall endeavor to 
present some views which may guide you in your choice of this 
branch of husbandry, and of the animals which compose it. It 
is not every farm which is adapted to sheep of any kind ; it is 
not every section in which sheep can be profitably fed ; it is not 
every kind and degree of labor that can be applied to the care 
of sheep with hope and promise of reward ; it is not every cli- 
mate that is suited to their habits and growth. It is useless to 
introduce sheep-husbandry in this cquntry upon a small farm so 
located as to be suited to market gardening and the dairy. In 
those regions where the winters are long and cold sheep cannot 
be profitably fed for their wool alone, and rarely for their meat 
and their increase. When labor is dear, wool-growing is seldom 
remunerative. The milder latitudes and the broad grazing-lands, 
where the sheep require no housing, and where large flocks have 
plenty of room to roam, admit of sheep-husbandry as a foremost 
industry. And the sheep which are best adapted to this form 
of husbandry are those which should be selected for the busi- 
ness of growing wool and mutton. True, in England, where 
labor is cheap, heavy mutton-sheep can be fed to a profit ; so 
also can this be done in Canada and in some of the rich pas- 
tures of the Middle States. Not, however, as I think, in New 
England, where special cultivation and the dairy should occupy 
the most attention, nor along the northern line of the United 
States. For ourselves, we should remember that in attempting 
to decide what flocks are suitable, if we would feed sheep at all, 
we should bear in mind the circumstances of soil and climate by 
which we are surrounded. In this region our pastures are not 
luxuriant. Our climate is severe. Neither the grazing of sum- 
mer nor the usual quality of food in winter is conducive to large 
animal growth. 

A friend of mine has said, one great object of English agri- 



5o6 



THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 




COTSWOLU KA.M- 



culture, on the contrary, is to furnish animal food for the popu- 
lation of the kingdom at as cheap a rate as possible, and to no 

one branch of 
animal breeding 
for this purpose 
has the English 
farmer applied 
himself with 
more skill and 
success than to 
the production 
of mutton. Vari- 
ous breeds of 
sheep, each 
adapted to the 
locality in which 
it is found, are scattered over the kingdom, supplying food of a 
most nutritious and economical quality to all classes of the in- 
habitants. Mutton is said to be the cheapest food that the 
farmer there can 

produce. The " "^ ' " ~^^ 

domestic con- 
sumption is very 
great. Every 
edible portion 
of the animal 
finds a ready 
market. The 
hind-quarters 
and middle con- 
stitute a luxury 
for the rich, and 
the fore-quar- 
ters supply the poor with food at the most reasonable prices. 
In order to meet the demand which now exists there, great care 
has been taken in the selection of animals for breeding purposes, 
and Mr. John Ellman with his South Downs, and Mr. Bakewell 




COrSWOLD EWE. 



THE SMALLER ANLAfALS OF THE FARM. 50/ 

and Mr. Cully with their Leicesters, are looked upon as the 
benefactors of England ; while every farmer who cultivates his 
turnips and improves his pastures for the feeding of sheep finds 
that his labor meets with an ample reward. 

The soil and climate and agricultural system of England is 
admirably adapted to this business. The mild and humid at- 
mosphere and the equability of the temperature encourage the 
growth of the animal, and enable it to arrive at early maturity ; 
at the same time the fleece has a tendency to increase in length 
and coarseness. The luxuriant pastures also afford suitable 
food for animals whose heavy carcasses require abundant nour- 
ishment. The ease with which root crops, especially turnips, 
are raised on English soil, combined with the possibility of feed- 
ing such crops on the land during the mild winters of that isl- 
and, enables the English farmer to support his sheep with great 
economy during the cold season. All this produces a sheep 
which, when brought to the stall, is in condition to take on fat 
rapidly, and to remunerate the feeder. 

Of the best of English sheep, Oxford Downs are sent to mar- 
ket at fourteen months old, weighing eighty pounds, and shearing 
from seven to ten pounds of wool. Shropshire Downs are said 
to dress from twenty-five to thirty-pounds per quarter, and ta 
shear from five and one half to seven pounds of wool ; and they 
are highly recommended as strong, healthy, and heavy ani- 
mals. 

Cotswolds, at two years old, are made to weigh thirty-five 
pounds to the quarter ; and it is said that a ram of this breed 
has sheared seventeen pounds of good coarse wool. South 
Down wethers, at two years old, weigh from eighty-five to one 
hundred and twenty-five pounds, making more internal fat than 
others, and on this account being favorites with the butcher. 
The average weight of their fleeces is in England three pounds ; 
in this country it is said to be four. Leicesters, at two years 
old, weigh from twenty-five to thirty-five pounds to the quarter, 
and yield about seven pounds of wool. So much for the Eng- 
lish breeds, which can also be fed in Canada, where labor is 
worth but little and grain less, and in the United States, where 



;o8 



THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 




SOUTHDOWN RAM. 



there are luxuriant pastures and no winters. In harder cUmates 
and with harder fare a different class of sheep is found to be 
profitable. Throughout Scotland, and in Westmoreland, Lan- 
cashire, and 
Northumbe r- 
land, the black- 
faced heath 
sheep abound ; 
in Wales a small, 
short, knotty 
sheep ; and on 
the continent of 
Europe the vari- 
ous small fine- 
woolled breeds 
are to be found. 
Among these 
the Spanish merino stands foremost, — a sheep which for cen- 
turies furnished the looms of Spain with the finest wool, and 
which have improved all the other breeds on the continent 
of Europe in- 
to which their 
blood has been 
introduced, and 
have given high 
value to the 
Saxonies and 
French especial- 
ly. These sheep 
have been large- 
ly introduced in- 
to America from 
the early part of 
the present cen- 
tury to the year 1811, and they have laid the foundation of all 
the great flocks in the wool-growing sections of the country. 
To the American wool-grower they have been a mine of wealth. 




SOI'TIinOWX FWE. 



THE SMALLER ANIMALS OE THE EARAL 509 

The Hon. John Lowell gives a marvellous account of their value 
in his day, and the breeders of Vermont can tell a fabulous tale 
of their worth in ours. They are small consumers of food, 
large producers of wool, and easy producers of mutton. They 
are well adapted to short pastures and broad ranges ; and they 
can thrive in large flocks either in summer in the open air, or 
confined to the sheep-cote in winter. They have been bred in 
Vermont to a very great profit for the sake of their blood ; and 
they have multiplied into the great profitable flocks of Ohio, 
Texas, and California. They stand foremost in the primary 
work of the sheep, the production of wool ; and they stand next 
to ihe foremost in the secondary work of the sheep, the produc- 
tion of mutton. 

If you would combine these two interests, the merino is the 
sheep which can best enable you to do it. There is a large 
quantity of mutton brought to market of a very high quality and 
good flavor, which comes from the fine-wool regions of New 
England and the West. The carcasses weigh from fifty to sixty 
pounds, are not loaded with a great weight of external fat, but 
carry much tallow, and furnish meat of fine gfain and well 
marbled. The best of these sheep are grade-merinos, usually 
wethers, whose wool has paid well for their keeping until they 
have arrived at maturity. They compare well with the moun- 
tain sheep of Scotland, — the favorite of the English epicure, 
who sends his own over-fattened mutton for the market, for 
those who have a less delicate palate than himself. The class 
of sheep of which I am speaking are not only profitable to the 
producer for their wool, but also for their meat, grown with a 
small amount of food. The production of these grades has 
been highly recommended by such authorities as John Jolin- 
son and Mr. Randall of New York, especially when crossed 
with the South Down and some of the small-boned, coarse, and 
middle-w^oolied sheep, and they have been much admired in 
Massachusetts, Maine, New Hampshire, and Vermont. It is 
grades like these which constitute the great flocks sent to the 
market annually from the Northw^est. 

In feeding all breeds of sheep great care should be taken tcv 



5IO THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 




MERINO RAM. 



keep them constantly in a thrifty condition. A good pasture in 

summer is essential, — a pasture adapted to the breed you have 

selected : a luxuriant one for coarse, heavy sheep ; a shorter 

one for merinos 
and their grades. 
A sheep once 
out of condition 
is with difficulty 
restored. And 
wliether it be by 
a poor pasture 
in summer, or 
by poor feeding 
in the winter that 
the thrift of the 
animal is sus- 
pended, a check 

is produced in the growth of the wool which destroys its quality 

as a firm and uniform fibre. The ewes especially should be 

well fed throughout the year. As the pastures begin to decline 

in the autumn 

they should be 

turned upon fall 

feed, and when 

winter opens 

they should be 

supplied with 

good hay, a few 

turnips, and a 

small supply of 

oats three or 

four times a 

week until 

spring comes 

on and the pastures are again ready for them. Sheep are very 

fond of the coarser grasses, and they devour clover, pea-vines, 

meadow hay, and barley straw with great avidity, and should be 




MERINO EWE. 



THE SMALLER ANLMALS OF THE FARM. 511 

supplied with such food as this, even while being most carefully 
fed, whether for wool or the shambles. They should be fed 
regularly. If you are feeding for mutton, the following sugges- 
tions by John Johnson of New York will be found to be valu- 
able. He says : " I generally buy my sheep in October. Then 
I have good pasture to put them on, and they gain a good deal 
before winter sets in. For the last twenty-three years I have 
fed straw for the first two or two and a half months, with a 
pound of oil-cake, meal, or grain to each sheep. When I begin 
feeding hay, if it is good early-cut clover, I generally reduce the 
quantity of meal or grain one half ; but that depends on the 
condition of the sheep. If they are not pretty fat, I continue 
the full feed of meal or grain with their clover, and on both 
they fatten w'onderfully fast. I have fed buckwheat, a pound to 
each per day, — half in the morning and half at four in the 
afternoon, with wheat and barley straw." 

In laying the foundation of your flocks, you will of course 
select the best animals, both male and female, whatever your 
selected breed may be ; and the lambs had better be dropped 
from the middle of April to the middle of May, as at this sea- 
son the weather is mild enough to encourage their growth, and 
it is early enough to supply you with good lambs should you 
desire to furnish them to the market. Ewes in the spring 
should be most carefully treated, handled gently and without 
noise, and kept in a well-lighted, clean, well-ventilated room. 
If the days are mild they can be turned out for a few hours ; 
but at night and in storms they should be sheltered. The 
young lamb should also be cared for most tenderly, wrapped in 
warm blankets if chilled, and fed with cow's milk if the ewe's 
supply is small. And if the ewe disowns the lamb, they should 
be confined in a pen together until the unnatural mother re- 
turns to her senses and her duty. 

Washing and shearing are apart of the early summer work 
with the flocks. Washing should not be undertaken before the 
middle of June. The wool should be thoroughly wet in wash- 
ing, left to soak a little while, then dipped and squeezed, and 
the washing finished under a fall of water. In shearing great 



512 THE FARM- YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

care should be observed not to ir.jure the she.p by i ough hand- 
ling, and not to wound it with the shears. 
/ Wean your lambs at four months old, and give them a good 
pasture or fall feed to keep them growing till you can house 
and nourish them carefully in the winter. 

In winter sheep should be provided with comfortable and 
well-ventilated quarters. A barn cellar opening to the south 
and provided with doors to be closed in excessively cold and 
stormy weather forms an admirable sheep-cote. In this cellar 
they should be divided into flocks of one hundred each of me- 
rinos, and from twenty-five to fifty if of the coarser breeds. 
They should be well littered with straw and kept perfectly dry. 
The pens should be supplied with an abundance of fresh air, 
foul air and dampness being fertile causes of much of the 
disease and mortality which visit our flocks. For feeding 
purposes various racks have been constructed, and I shall leave 
to each of you the selection, only advising that the simplest are 
the best. 

Sheep are liable to many diseases, and to parasitic torments. 
Ticks can be destroyed by washing in tobacco-water. Grub in 
the head can be prevented by ploughing furrows in the pastures, 
into which the sheep can run their noses when they are attacked, 
in the early part of July, by the fly which lays the eggs of the 
grub in their nostrils. Smearing their noses with tar at this 
season will repel the fly. Colic can be cured by an ounce of 
Epsom salts dissolved in warm water, with a teaspoonful of 
essence of peppermint for a full-grown animal, and half that 
dose to a lamb. Malignant catarrh may be prevented by a 
plentiful supply of fresh air, and cured by nothing. The scab 
can be cured with a mi.xture of tar, sulphur, and lard in the 
proportion of one pound of lard, half a pound of sulphur, and a 
quarter of a pound of melted tar. Rub this mixture into the 
head and along the back and sides. If foot-rot gets into your 
flocks, take the advice of the best treatise on sheep husbandry 
you can find, and follow these instructions laid down by Mr. 
R.andall, who says : " I had a flock of sheep a few years since 
that were in the second season of the disease. They had been 



THE SMALLER ANIMALS OF THE FARM. 513 

but little looked to during the summer, and as cold weather was 

setting in many of them were quite lame I bought a 

quantity of blue vitriol, made the necessary arrangements, and 
took the chair as principal operator. Never were the feet of a 
flock more thoroughly pared. Into a large washing-tub, in which 
the sheep could stand conveniently, I poured a saturated solu- 
tion of blue vitriol and water, as hot as could be endured by the 
hand, even for a moment. The liquid was about four inches 

deep The sheep, when pared, were compelled to stand 

in the tub about ten minutes. The cure was perfect 

Many years after the above took place I treated a flock of 
diseased lambs in the same way, except that they were put into 
a larger tub which would hold five of them, so that each stood 
in the liquid from twenty to twenty-five minutes. And again 
the cure was complete." 

I cannot pretend to have exhausted this subject, but I have 
given you such information as will enable you to select and 
care for your flocks properly, as I think, and may possibly lead 
you to a more elaborate investigation of this important topic. 
Sheep husbandry has always held an important place in the 
agriculture of every nation, and is surrounded with the most 
agreeable associations of rural life. To the shepherd and his 
flocks the genius of the poet has always paid tribute ; and the 
industry to which they are devoted has always been regarded 
with the greatest interest and care. And so I commend it to 
your patient consideration. 

The Squire was cordially thanked for his essay, and the 
subject was discussed until a late hour by the Club. Be- 
fore the adjournment the "learned author" was requested 
to continue his investigations into the smaller animals of 
the farm ; a request he was ready to grant, as a duty to 
the Club, and as an occupation to his mind which would 
attract his attention from more perplexing topics. 



33 



514 THE FAR.\T-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 



THIRTY-THIRD MEETING. 

THE SMALLER ANIMALS OF THE FARM {Continued). 

JOHN THOMAS AND HULDAH DISCUSS THE DOCTOR, MARGARET, 
AND FANNY. — THE OLD SEXTON APPEARS. — DR. PARKER AND 
FANNY MAKE AN EVENING CALL. —THE WEDDING OVER. — LIFE 
IS FULL OF PROMISE. 

John THOMAS and Huldah his wife sat dreamily 
and cosily in their little sitting-room, as they called it, 
before a smouldering and flickering fire, which tempered 
the chill of an April evening to their blood, now thinned a 
little by the weight of years and toil. The day had been 
long and busy. John had devoted it to his early garden, 
which the instructions of the Club had taught him to value 
highly ; and he had allowed the pleasing stimulus of the 
newly upturned soil and of the promises held forth by the 
first planted seeds of spring, to beguile him into longer 
and more exhausting toil than he had realized until the 
day was over and the work was done. Huldah, too, had 
been diligently occupied in the annual process of cleaning 
those sacred rooms which were seldom opened, and with 
which she became familiar when she let in upon them the 
light and air of spring, and piously prepared their ancient 
furniture for another year's repose. John had a few no- 
tices to write as Chairman of the Board of Selectmen, to 
which exalted position he had been heartily and unani- 
mously restored by his townsmen since the death of Peter 
Ilsley ; but his fingers were too stiff with toil, and he pre- 
ferred to settle down into that sturdy languor which is the 
.sweet solace of overwrought strength. Huldah might have 



THE SMALLER ANIMALS OF THE FARM. 515 

done a little knitting, but her winter's stint in this line was 
finished, and her mind was so completely occupied with 
the memories which her devotion to the old heirlooms had 
awakened, that she failed to rouse her weary powers up to 
the point of any useful occupation. And so they sat, and 
mused, and nodded, while all around the house, in field and 
forest, the drowsy hum of awakened life filled the evening 
air with its sleepy music. The conversation of the placid 
oouple was entirely in accord with these surrounding influ- 
ences, and it ran on for an hour or more in its subduing 
and monotonous strain, until late in the evening, when it 
was broken by a clumsy and clattering knock on the door. 
John Thomas himself responded to the summons, and let 
in a tall, gaunt, and solemn specimen of humanity, known 
to everybody in Jotham as the village sexton. He strode 
slowly in, with a length which was quite astonishing even 
when reduced by his habitual stoop in the shoulders and 
bend in the knee, and quietly seated himself before the fire, 
with a sort of modest familiarity and awkward self-confi- 
dence, which grew out of a long-continued exercise of his 
sad and solemn duty in almost every family in the town. 
He was not an old man, and he had never been known as 
a young one. Upon his subdued and solemn visage, on 
which was written a cheerful resignation, which never re- 
laxed into levity and was never beclouded by passion, could 
be read the imprint of his gloomy occupation. No man 
was ever more thoroughly adapted to his work than he. 
His form was entirely in harmony with the quaint archi- 
tecture of the old meeting-house over which he presided 
on Sunday ; and his somewhat drawling and plaintive 
voice chimed admirably with the old bell which had, for 
more than a century and a half, called the worshippers 
together, and tolled out its dismal requiem as the funeral 
procession wound its way to the graveyard, and proclaimed 
with the punctuality of the curfew that the hour of nine 



5i6 



THE FARM- YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 



had come. Without austerity he preserved the sanctity 
of the ancient edifice, and without a tearful demonstration 
performed well his painful part in the house of mourning. 
His entire fitness everybody recognized. At church he 

was more than 
sexton ; at fune- 
rals he was by no 
means an under- 
taker ; but in 
spite of the sad- 
ness of his occu- 
pation and the 
poverty and low- 
liness of his life,, 
he managed to 
secure such a pe- 
culiar hold upon 
the people that 
they submitted 
the sacred ashes 
of their friends 
into his hands 
with a feeling 
of tender confi- 
dence ; they 
opened their 
doors to him at all hours, as if he had been a member of the 
domestic circle ; they bestowed their alms upon him, as if 
they were contributing to a sacred cause ; and they classed 
him with the minister and the lawyer and the doctor, as 
among the most important personages in the village. Made 
up as he was of simplicity and shrewdness, he had won from 
the Rev. Mr. Howe and his predecessor, with whom he 
had also served, the high eulogium of being as "wise as a 
serpent and harmless as a dove." Had he not been the 




THE OLD SEXTON. 



THE SMALLER AAUMAL^S OF THE FARM. 517 

sexton he would probabl}' have amounted to but little ; but 
he was the sexton, and so as the conij)anion of the minis- 
ter he counted a great deal. When, therefore, this impor- 
tant official seated himself before the fire, and, resting his 
wrists on his knees, presented his great open palms to the 
genial warmth of the embers, all the while moving his 
features up and down with curious and impressive method, 
Deacon Thomas prepared his mind for some kind of im- 
portant business, he knew not what. 

" We had heard the nine-o'clock bell, and were just 
starting for bed as you came in," said Huldah to the sex- 
ton. " You must ha' come right from the meeting-house 
here." 

" So I did," drawled the sexton. " Every night, for 
thirty years, in fair weather and foul, I 've travelled up 
this road zind rung that bell. Not a night have I missed. 
Sometimes I 've been kind o' tired, and kind o' sick, and 
sometimes the folks have n't been well, but I 've always 
rung it. One of the nights, grandsir died ; but I rang the 
bell. I 've rung that bell, and tolled it a good many times, 
Deacon, taking Sundays, and funerals, and noonings, and 
nights." 

" Yes ; and have done it well, too," said the deacon. 
*'■ But does this business pay } " added the thrifty ecclesi- 
astic. 

"Well," said the sexton, "there's the rides on the hearse, 
— not so bad on a fine summer afternoon ; and there's the 
steady work of it. The folks have been very good, and 
I 'm much obleeged to them ; yes, I be ; I 'm sure I be ; I 
know I be ; I 'm very much obleeged to 'em. And as for 
the business. Deacon, I suppose, taking it all together, — 
the ringing, the tolling, and the meetin'-house, and the 
funerals, — 'tis rather more pleasurable than profitable. 
Howsoever, I 've stood it for thirty year, and got along ; 
and the Parson says, every time he meets me, the ravens 



5l8 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

always have been and always will be fed ; and I s'pose he 
means me as one of 'em." 

" O," said Huldah, " what a multitude has passed away 
since you began, — old and young, — the fathers and 
mothers, and the old folks, and the little children ! there 's- 
more gone than there is here, John, a good many." 

" That 's just as true as preachin'," replied the sexton ; 
" and I 've told Parson Howe so many a time. But this is 
nothing here nor there. Deacon. I jist come over to tell 
you. Deacon, that Dr. Parker 's going to set a monument 
up in Peter Ilsley's lot, and he wants the line run between 
his 'n and your'n. I thought I 'd better tell ye, now, for 
the Doctor's dreadful particular, you know. Wants every- 
thing done jes' so." 

" Not a very handy season just now for it," said Deacon 
Thomas ; "but I s'pose it must be done. Tell the Doctor 
I '11 do it to-morrow afternoon." 

" I 'm much obleeged to ye. Deacon ; yes, I be ; I 'm 
sure I be ; I know I be ; I 'm very much obleeged to ye. 
You know I 've got to get a new cow this spring ; and the 
Doctor's real kind about it ; and so I want to be real kind 
to him. You could n't lend a hand toward it, could ye, 
Deacon } " 

John Thomas was ready as usual to do his share, and 
Huldah encouraged him ; and with this substantial assur- 
ance of regard from the kind-hearted couple, the sexton 
rose up in all his longitude, and moved slowly towards the 
door, declaring as he went : " I 'm much obleeged to ye^ 
Deacon ; yes, I be; I 'm sure I be; I know I be; I 'm very 
much obleeged to ye. Parson Howe always said you and 
Huldah was the salt of the earth. Dr. Parker said so once \ 
and he don't flatter nobody. Good night, Deacon. Good 
night, Miss Thomas. I kind o' think Dr. Parker's going 
to change his situation ; but I don't know exactly. Good 
night, all " 



THE SMALLER ANLMALS OF THE FARM. 519 

The sexton was gone ; and as he took his steady, awk- 
ward gait along the lonely road which led to his home, 
" the grand old farmer and his wife " turned their thoughts 
to the curious fact that Dr. Parker was going to erect a 
monument over the spot where Peter and Margaret Ilsley 
and their family were buried. 

" What upon airth do you suppose he is going to do that 
for?" asked Huldah. 

" T hardly know," replied John ; "but the Doctor is queer, 
anyway. He is getting ready to adopt Margaret, and I do 
solemnly believe he is bound to marry the young Widow 
Ransom, the Squire's Fanny, if he can only muster courage 
enough." 

" Adopting Margaret, marrying Fanny, — why John 
Thomas, what are you a-talking about.-*" exclaimed Hul- 
dah." He 's no more fit to take care of a family than a 
wild critter." 

" O Huldah, you do not know about that," said John. 
" Dr. Parker is as steady as a clock now, and has been for 
months. I think he has found out that Fanny is smart 
enough for him ; and he acts as if he was glad of it. I 
have seen many a man in my day who was glad to put 
himself under the rule of his wife, after he had run his rig 
and found out that he could not rule himself. Such kind 
make the best of husbands they say. Dr. Parker is odd, 
I know ; but he is sensible, and he is too honorable and 
manly to let his appetites and passions control him, when 
he feels that they will do it at the expense of those whom 
he ought to protect and love. His habits may be bad 
sometimes, but his mind and heart are good, and I am 
ready to bet the best cow I have got in my barn that if 
Dr. Parker marries Fanny he will never allow himself to 
insult her or hurt her feelings. He is too good a fellow 
for that, or he has not got his old mother's blood in him, 
bless her old soul ! " 



520 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

" She was a good woman, a real good old woman, and 
bright as a pin," said Huldah. "And the old doctor, his 
father, — was there ever such a noble old man born ? But, 
John, who in the world is at the door now ? " 

John listened, and heard a livelier knocking than the 
sexton's, and became aware that more than one person 
sought admission to his house, at an hour of the night 
which usually found himself and his neighbors in Jotham 
deep in the business for which nights in the country seem 
to have been specially created. He was far from being a 
timid man, but it must be confessed that he felt a little 
uneasy at such a demonstration around his house at such 
an hour. And it was with something more vivid than 
mere curiosity and courtesy that he took a candle in his 
hand to respond to ihe call. He thought of burglars and 
lost travellers and beggars and accidents as he traversed 
the long wide entry leading tt) the front door, a great space 
of darkness in which his little light seemed like a wander- 
ing star in the firmament of the heavens ; but he did not 
think of his friends and daily companions, and it v^as with 
unutterable astonishment mingled with alarm that he 
found Dr. Parker and Fanny standing on the doorstep 
waiting for admission, while he heard the hard breathing 
of a horse which was dimly visible in the darkness, stand- 
ing by the little gate which opened into the yard. 

" How are you, Uncle John ">. " said the Doctor, " and 
how is Aunt Huldah .-* Fanny and I were driving up this 
way home, and seeing your light we thought we would 
make you an evening call. A little late, I know, but bet- 
ter late than never, you know. I think we '11 walk in, 
Uncle John, if you please, for Fanny and I are rather 
chilled with our ride through the evening air not yet as 
warm as midsummer." And Dr. Parker almost elbowed 
his way into the house, followed by Fanny, and running 
on with unusually voluble talk even for him, while John 



THE SMALLER ANIMALS OF THE FARM. 52 r 

silently submitted to their entrance and lighted them into 
the little sitting-room, wondering, with an uprising pity, 
whether Dr. Parker had forgotten bis good purposes for a 
time and had prepared an hour of horror for himself and 
his fair companion. He managed, however, to lead the 
way, and ushered the unexpected visitors into the presence 
of Huldah, who was as amazed as he was at the unseason- 
able call. 

" Bless my soul ! Where under the canopy did you 
come from } " asked John, as he and his wife provided the 
visitors with comfortable seats beside the fading fire, and 
received them with their accustomed hearty hospitality. 

" Bless your heart, Fanny dear, how beautiful you do 
look ! But what in the name o' natur are you and the 
Doctor running round at this time of night for t " ex- 
claimed Huldah, as she hovered about Fanny and unpinned 
her shawl and smoothed her down into her motherly ideas 
of comfort. 

" Now, my dear old friends, don't be alarmed," said Dr. 
Parker, who realized in a moment all the doubts and fears 
which had filled John's mind, and who now rejoiced that 
he had a chance to show his friends the diff'erence between 
the wildness of unnatural excitement, and the joy and 
exaltation which spring from a happy heart. " Don't be 
alarmed. But listen. You both know how I have been 
tossed about from my boyhood up, and what an unlucky 
track I have travelled, considering how narrow my sphere 
has been. I know what temptation is, and what weakness 
is ; and feeling how poor a thing man is when he endeavors 
to resist the one and overcome the other alone, I have 
made up my mind to fight a single-handed fight no longer. 
So here we are, Fanny and I, man and wife, bound to help 
€ach other through the world. I did n't want a wedding 
and a fuss and a party and all that ; nor did Fanny. 
Great weddings and heaps of flowers and music and dan- 



S22 THE FARM- YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

cing belong to the young and inexperienced ; a quiet mar- 
riage to those who have passed through trial and trouble 
and disappointment on their way to the altar, at whose 
foot they are to lay down all their sorrows, and find at last 
their surest peace. And so we have been married by 
Parson Snow of Chilton, just over beyond the pond, and 
are on our way to our home, where I hope and pray we 
shall be as happy as you have been in yours. And that 
is all." 




DR. Parker's wedding. 

The Doctor rose to a height of unwonted refinement 
and glow as he made this statement ; and Fanny's radiant 
beauty was tempered with an expression of sweetness and 
fervor which had not before been brought out by any of 
the experiences of her life. John looked a little suspicious, 
and Huldah a little anxious. But there was no mistaking 
the lofty purpose of Dr. Parker, or the luxuriant existence 
which had come round to Fanny. John and Huldah sat 
there and looked upon them at last with true confidence 



THE SMALLER ANLMALS OE THE FARM. 525 

and protoLind admiration, llie bygone days passed rap- 
idly in review before them, — their own cahii and placid 
existence ; the fine memory of the old doctor ; the laugh- 
ing childhood of Fanny ; their own griefs and losses ; the 
sweet little faces of those who fainted and fell in the morn- 
ing of life, — and their hearts overflowed with a tender 
solicitude for these friends, who seemed to have stopped 
by the way to receive their blessing. 

"Does the old Squire know all about this.''" asked John, 
suddenly possessed by a suspicious spasm, and a little 
anxious about what answer he would get. 

" Know it } Why, yes, certainly, all about it ; agreed ta 
it; understood it; advised it; thought the plan appropriate 
and admirable; the dear, generous old father that he is and 
has always been to me," replied Fanny. She knew nothing 
about the thrifty fears and misgivings which her father had 
expressed during the interview at the office, when discuss- 
ing the daguerreotype ; O blissful unconsciousness of a 
sordid motive for a high-toned and generous sentiment ! 

" How is your mother } and how is the boy .'' " asked 
Huldah, with a shy and half-doubtful expression. 

" O Aunt Huldah, they are well and happy," said 
Fanny. " Mother hates to have me leave the old house^ 
and she longs to keep the boy ; but I think she had better 
not, and Dr. Parker agrees with me. Grandmothers are 
not apt to bring out the manly qualities of boys, I think. 
And then the boy has been my little teacher so long, Aunt 
Huldah, that I cannot bear to part from him. He has. 
unfolded to me many and many a page of human life. 
Children do to us mothers, you know." 

" Yes," said Dr. Parker, " and so I hope little Margaret 
will be my teacher, too. I suppose you know, Aunt Hul- 
dah, I have adopted her } " 

" Well, now, this is great doings ! " exclaimed Mrs. 
Thomas, somewhat sharply. "Adopted Margaret.'' Why,. 



524 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

you are a-going to set up housekeeping with all the fixtures 
ready made. Lord a' mercy ! Well, I guess on the whole 
you had better take her. She 's a child I don't understand ; 
good enough, 'most too good ; but I don't understand her, 
and she don't understand me. And as for Dr. Parker, she 
thinks the world of him. But she 's kind o' handy, too. 
However, that don't signify. I suppose I had better let 
her go. She really is n't fit for the common ways. Her 
mother, you know, was a good deal set up. And I declare, 
Fanny, you and the Doctor and the boy and Margaret 
ought to have a bright and happy home when you all get 
together. And may God bless you in it!" And the kind- 
hearted woman had literally talked herself out of all her 
selfish impulses, and into a warm and maternal apprecia- 
tion of the peace and happiness which Fanny and the 
Doctor had gathered about themselves in the new house. 
And she rejoiced with them to the full extent of her large 
.and tender heart. 

"But, my dear Doctor," said Mrs. Thomas, "what do 
you think Parson Howe will say when he finds that you 
have not asked him to tie the knot } Don't you think 
he 'II be kind of disappointed .' You know how much he 
likes you and Fanny." 

" O," said the Doctor, " Mrs. Howe is too ill to have a 
Avedding in her house ; the Squire," — and here Dr. Par- 
ker moved away to a remote corner of the room accom- 
panied by Mrs. Thomas, and leaving John and Fanny 
engaged in their talk before the fire, — " the Squire had a 
superstitious feeling against a second wedding for Fanny 
in his house ; and how could Fanny stand up there with 
.all the memories of the past around her, and the boy look- 
ing curiously on, and repeat a ceremony which had once 
been attended by all the bright angels of her dawning life, 
and irradiated with the glowing colors of a young girl's 
morning.'' O, Aunt Huldah, Fanny could not have done 



THE SMALLER ANLMAL.S OF THE EARM. 525 

that." And Huldah saw in the Doctor's face, as he said 
this, a gentle and tender expression of love, and kindness,, 
and purity, and honest purpose, which with a woman's 
instinct she fully understood, and for which, with a woman's 
heart, she thanked God. Then it was that Dr. Parker took 
Fanny by the hand to journey with her along the way of 
life, and to leave behind him the load which but for her he 
would have borne in misery to the end. And they went 
forth to their own home, with the sincere blessing, and the 
sweet and simple, and life-long harmony of the farmer and 
his wife, who had known no division, resting upon their 
heads. 

"He is queer, but he is safe now," said Huldah, when 
the newly married couple were gone. 

" And she has found a new life, I hope," said John. 

The morning dawned upon Jotham, and upon the new 
home of Dr. and Mrs. Parker it shone with peculiar bright- 
ness. The announcement of the marriage created hardly 
a ripple of excitement in the community where Dr. Parker 
was so well known and where Fanny was so much ad- 
mired. Mr. Hopkins felt assured that it was a good alli- 
ance for both. "The Doctor is a very successful man," said 
he, " and has a long list of valuable correspondents." Sam' 
Barker merely remarked, " You don't say so ! " and in five 
minutes the wedded life of Dr. Parker seemed to have 
existed for years. William Jones was highly pleased with 
the " new order of things," and he felt confident that Dr. 
Parker, as he now had a new wife, would soon want a new 
horse, a want which he felt sure he would be called on to 
supply. Charles Ingalls and Clara Bell felt a strong per- 
sonal interest in the event ; and they assured themselves 
that a refined and cultivated and well-ordered home would 
now be added to those already existing in Jotham, and that 
they not only retained the Doctor and Fanny in their list 
of friends, but they had increased that list by a charming 



526 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

domestic organization in which they could find wisdom 
for their heads and sympathy for their hearts. But the 
calm repose of Jotham was not ruffled, and "the family of 
Dr. Parker " was soon an accepted fact among all the other 
families of the town. Margaret and the boy had their 
places assigned them ; Fanny became a matron ; and of 
the Doctor himself it was said that he had sown all his 
wild oats, and had become not only a corner-stone, but a 
vitalizing force in a well-behaved and Christian community. 
The people felt, with Huldah, that he was saved ; and, 
realizing that popular sentiment, he behaved like a man 
and never forgot his obligation. It may not have been 
•either morality or religion which rescued him from the 
dangers by which he was surrounded ; but saved he was, 
and if it was by an honorable sense of his obligations to 
her whom he had sworn to protect and love, let us thank 
God that woman has it in her power to stretch forth her 
hand patiently and tenderly and powerfully, and save him 
who, but for her, might be left to perish. And let woman 
rejoice in her power and her prerogative. 

John Thomas was of course deeply interested in the 
affairs of Dr. Parker ; but he could not forget his farm and 
his club. From the former he drew his subsistence, and 
from the latter he received mental food enough to keep 
himself in that condition of intellectual activity which 
belongs to an enterprising and progressive New England 
farmer. The Club was, moreover, to him the arena in 
which his faculties found room for recreation and exercise ; 
and it was in obedience to a natural inclination, therefore, 
that he arranged for the next meeting and enlisted Squire 
Wright in the work of continuing his investigations into 
the smaller animals of the farm. When the Club assem- 
bled once more in the hospitable mansion of Mr. Hopkins, 
and had been called to order by that now venerable gentle- 
man, the Squire drew forth his paper and read a concise 
essay upon Swine. 



THE SMALLER ANLMALS OE THE EAKM. 527 



SQUIRE WRIGHT ON SWINE. 

I need not apologize, Gentlemen, for selecting this subject 
at a time like this ; for you must all be aware that we have now 
traversed nearly all the paths of investigation which agriculture 
offers, and the choice of topics for us is small. I am not one 
of those who believe that swine are a necessary part of every 
system of farming; but I do recognize their importance, and 
I am fully aware that they are entitled to careful consideration. 
Not only do they constitute a most important portion of the 
animal economy of the farm, but they hold, more than any othei 
of our dumb companions, a curious and interesting relation to 
man, whose servants they are. Originally the most cleanly 
and energetic of animals, they have been brought by their con- 
tact with man to a state of degradation which renders their 
name a synonyme of everything low and filthy and brutish. 
Evidently occupying a valuable position in the economy of 
Oriental farming, if we may believe that a drove of five thou- 
sand perished miserably in the waters to which they were 
driven by their madness, they were condemned as an unhealthy 
and poisonous nuisance. In his natural estate considered to 
be game worthy of royal steel, in his domesticated state the 
swine is considered to be worthy of the lowest consideration. 
The favorite food of many people on the earth, his very name 
is a forbidden word among them. A very observant traveller 
in Portugal writes : " No Portuguese of any class will name that 
shocking animal, the pig. If he must be alluded to — and it is 
necessary sometimes, seeing that the Portuguese are very fond 
of him cooked — he is called the fat animal cevada, and if a 
Portuguese is driven into a corner and absolutely forced to 
employ the word, he will use the diminutive ' porquito,' little 
pig, and even that under his breath, and with the phrase, ' by 
your leave.' I have been amused by reading the translation 
into Portuguese of a French savant's account of a fossil bone 
cave, in which had been found, among other remains, abundant 
bones of swine. The Portuguese translator ingeniously eluded 
all direct mention of the animal, and as often as science clearly 



528 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

demanded the plain word ' pig,' he would have recourse to some 
ingenious paraphrase, such as ' a famiUar animal which we still 
employ as food." And he gives an account of the connection 
of this domestic outcast with the superstitions of the country, 
which lets light in upon the mental condition of the Portuguese 
and the physical condition of their pigs. He says : " With an 
agricultural population, pig-fattening is necessarily an impor- 
tant matter. No Portuguese, high or low, rich or poor, old or 
young, is, I am inclined to believe, quite happy who does not 
possess a pig in process of fattening. Autumn comes rounds 




CHESTER COUNTY SWINP:. 



the pigs get fatter, but not rapidly. The breeds of Yorkshire 
and Berkshire are unknown. The Portuguese animal has the 
length of leg, the leanness and nearly the speed of the English 
greyhound. He will not be hurried into presentable bacon ; 
his fattening is a slow and precarious process. Nevertheless, 
fat or lean, the last new moon before the winter quarter must 
be fatal to him. A fortnight more might make a respectable 
Martinmas pig of him, but the popular belief is that if he is not 
killed before the hunter's moon has waned salt will not pickle 
him, nor wood-smoke cure him. It would be curious to specu- 



THE SMALLER ANLMALS OF THE FARM. 529 

late how much the nation loses every year through this super- 
stition alone." 

" Nobody who knows anything would kill a pig, except 
on the full of the moon, unless he wanted his pork to 
shrink to nothing in the pot," interposed Sam Barker. 

But pigs we must have, and good ones, continued Squire 
Wright j and I can only urge great care in the selection of 
such breeds as are hardy, thrifty, and easily grown and fattened. 
Pork-raising is not very profitable here, anyway, brought as we 
are into competition with the Western produced ; but inasmuch 




SUFFOLK SWINE. 

as a pig will consume much which but for him would be wasted, 
and is skilful in working over the manure-heap, we must exer- 
cise some discretion in the choice and some judgment in the 
feeding of him. The best breeds are undoubtedly the Chester 
Whites, Suffolks, Yorkshires, and Berkshires. The Essex is 
also a good breed, but objectionable on account of color, 
although he makes a fine cross with other breeds, especially 
with the Suffolk. For the purpose of crossing, however, noth- 
ing can excel the Chester White. Like a Shorthorn bull, he 
34 



530 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

improves every herd into which he pours his blood. Select 
what breed you will, pigs are difficult animals to raise, no mat- 
ter how careful you may be. The young are very delicate. 
The sow is very apt to disown or devour her progeny ; and no 
skill of man has yet been able to strengthen the one or har- 
monize the other. Warmth, gentle treatment, cleanliness, and 
good food may possibly help you out, but even these will too 
often fail. 

In order to raise young pigs well and keep them growing,, 
you must have a plentiful supply of milk. The sty depends 
very much upon the dairy for its success. With milk give them 
oat-meal, corn-meal, and shorts mixed in equal quantities, and 
boil the mess before feeding it. A little green food, such as 
grass, weeds, and small potatoes, will help them along very 
much. Give no whole grain unless it be now and then a little 
corn as they grow older, and never allow them to cease growing 
and fattening if you can avoid it. A pig once stopped in his 
growth is not easily started. And when you find your pigs 
humpbacked and rough from starvation, bad feeding, or cold, 
take my advice ; sell out, and start again. Feed what they will 
eat, and no more. You can destroy a pig's appetite by an 
excessive supply of food, and a pig with a poor appetite is the 
most useless and restless of animals. 

"In the summer season," we are told by Mr. Mapes, "hogs 
and pigs should most certainly have access to a good field of 
clover, both as a matter of economy and of health, as they will 
keep in good condition and grow rapidly thereon with but little 
or no other feed. Thus by a rigid economy, both in winter 
and summer, hogs may be kept as a matter of profit as well as 
any other class of stock." 

In constructing the piggery, every man may consult his own 
taste, being careful to liave his building well drained, well 
ventilated, dry, warm, and economical. An expensive piggery 
is a reproach to every practical farmer who erects it. And as 
for troughs, those are the best which the pigs can neither eat up 
nor get into. 

Swine, like all other animals, are liable to diseases, and with 



THE SMALLER ANIMALS OF THE FARM. 53 1 

them, as with all their associates in the domestic economy, an 
ounce of prevention is worih a pound of cure. Sulphur and 
charcoal given from time to time are great preventives of 
disease. And strange as it may seem to you, considering the 
utterly reckless manner in which a pig will devote himself to a 
mud-hole, when he becomes accustomed to it, his tendencies are 
towards the most scrupulous neatness, and his health is vastly 
benefited by allowing him to gratify his taste in this respect. 

I might enlarge upon the various points I have presented to 
you on this important and interesting subject ; but, after all, 
the pig will have his own way, and never thrives so well as 
when quietly encouraged in the hands of an accommodating 
master. 

Squire Wright continued his remarks in a conversational 
way, and was joined by many members of the Club, who 
succeeded in prolonging the session to a late hour, and in 
making an interesting discussion out of a very troublesome 
and often disappointing portion of the animal economy of 
the farm. The Jews, the Egyptians, the Mohammedans, 
the Chinese, and the English, the Mosaic law and the 
status of the Saxon swineherds, all came into the debate, 
until the hog himself was pretty effectually thrust out. 

At the close of the exercises Mr. Hopkins endeavored 
to detain Dr. Parker and a few of his friends for a little 
fireside talk, but it could not be done. The parlor was 
cheerful and attractive enough, but the Doctor had stronger 
attractions elsewhere ; and as he went, the rest followed. 

" He is less angular than he was," remarked Mr. Howe. 

" Yes," said Mr. Hopkins ; " he '11 get his corners rubbed 
off, I doubt not," 

And so the Club departed, and the village was soon 
wrapped in slumber. 



532 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 



THIRTY-FOURTH MEETING. 
THE SMALLER ANIMALS OF THE FARM {Continued). 

SQUIRE WRIGHT'S INTELLECTUAL OPERATIONS. - HE DISCOURSES 
OF POULTRY. 

Squire WRIGHT was one of those determined and 
indefatigable gentleman who, having work on hand, are 
never quite easy until it is finished. He could turn his 
mind, it is true, to collateral matters for a short time ; but 
it returned swiftly and eagerly to the object on which it 
was engaged, — as swiftly and eagerly as the bird returns 
to its nest at nightfall, and forgets the idle warblers which 
had tempted it away. Usually calm and thoughtful in his 
demeanor, he became, under the pressure of duty, restless 
and roving and uncompanionable. When he labored, he 
labored alone ; and when he was preparing for labor, he 
avoided his fellow-men. His powers of perception and 
observation were keener than his powers of thought ; and it 
was in the hours of darkness, therefore, and in the seclu- 
sion of his library, or under the excitement of a public 
occasion in which his mind rose above the temptations of 
surrounding objects, that he could perform his best work. 
Dr. Bowditch, correcting the proof-sheets of his translation 
of Laplace, and accurately computing the great mathe- 
matical calculations of the divine astronomer, in the chatty 
circle of his family, he could not understand. Mental 
application with him meant solitary confinement ; and it 
mattered little whether he was engaged on an argument 
before a jury, or a speech at the Sunday school, or a paper 
for the Club, he was annoyingly devoted to the business 



THE SMALLER ANLMALS OE TLIE FARM. 533 

before him. In fact, he did not even leave his work easily 
and gracefully, and betake himself to the recreation of his 
family or the village. He often related the astonishment 
with which he saw the great Judge Story, whom he was 
visiting as an old friend, leave his commentaries on the 
Constitution, and in an instant unbend to the domestic 
amusements for which his home was so remarkable, and by 
which it was made so attractive. Squire Wright felt that 
this capacity for work and play combined was really the 
moving force for great accomplishment ; but he also felt 
keenly that it was not a characteristic of his own. And he 
was half ashamed that he was so poor a companion, when 
he was endeavoring to make himself a useful member of 
society. And so because he had a little work to do for 
the Club, he seemed to be unmindful of one half of the 
events which were transpiring about him, and indifferent 
to the other half. Fanny's marriage he took as a matter 
of course, and he saw her and the boy leave his own home 
and take up their residence with Dr. Parker, with an ap- 
parent indifference which seemed almost unfeeling ; and he 
never appeared to realize the fact that he and Mrs. Wright 
alone made a very small and very quiet family circle, and 
one quite in contrast to that to which they had recently 
been accustomed. He had profound respect for Mrs. 
Howe, and a deep interest in her welfare ; but when he 
learned from the minister, whom he also loved, that the 
health of his wife was rapidly declining, he remarked, to 
the consternation of the minister, that the weather had 
been excessively bad for chickens during the entire spring. 
He so far forgot himself that he inquired of Mr. Hopkins 
when his ship Althea, which foundered at sea twenty years 
before, would probably return from her Canton voyage. 
When he was told that William Jones had lost his favorite 
horse, he only replied, '• There are as good fish in the 
sea as ever were caught." And when Charles Ingalls 



534 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

reminded him that Sam Barker was in danger of losing his 
farm, unless his cause was vigorously and skilfully defended 
in the courts, he quietly reminded Charles that " Sam 
never did know anything about hens." This was a little 
too much for the equanimity of the young lawyer, even ; 
and deeply alarmed that the overshadowing peculiarities 
of the Squire might indicate approaching mental decay, he 
quietly informed him that there was no good reason why 
he should be utterly lost in a little essay about the live- 
stock of a farm, and he even went so far as to call his 
attention to the fable of the mountain and the mouse. 

" Yes, yes," said the Squire, " but it is my way and al- 
ways was. I suppose it is just about as hard for the moun- 
tain to bring forth a mouse as a mastodon ; and that the 
groaning and convulsion is as great in one case as in the 
other. Who was it that reminded us the other day of Mr. 
Emerson's wise saying, ' It is as easy for the strong man to 
be strong as it is for the weak man to be weak'.-* The job 
for the Club is n't much, I know ; but it is a job for all 
that, and I have got it on hand. I never could do two 
things at the same time, Charles ; and I think old age 
strengthens one's weakness and weakens one's strength. 
This second childhood is a great deal more tender than 
the first." 

Charles felt the force of what the old Squire had said, 
and he was touched with remorse for his apparent thought- 
lessness. Squire Wright, however, was as placid and 
peaceful as possible about it, and started off in search of 
John Thomas, to inform him that he was now ready for 
the next meeting of the Club ; in fact, anxious for it, that 
he might free his mind of the burden which the Club had 
placed upon it. 

The meeting of the Club was called as usual at the house 
of Mr. Hopkins, and it was but the work of a moment for 
the old gentleman, now growing more and more indisposed 



THE SMALLER A A7M A LS OE THE EAKM. 535 

to wander away into matters of supererogation, to call it to 
order, and to announce Squire Wright as the speaker upon 
the Smaller Animals of the Farm. 



SQUIRE WRIGHT'S ESSAY ON POULTRY. 

Mr. President and Gentlemen, — I propose to devote 
myself this evening to the subject of Poultry, and to end with 
this my first investigation into the smaller animals of the farm. 
Perhaps dogs and cats and goats might come in for a share of 
our consideration ; but as they belong, like donkeys, to the 




GROUP OK ASIATIC KOWLS. 



unusual affairs of rural life, and are companions of either ex- 
treme poverty or extreme riches, I shall content myself with 
discoursing upon Poultry alone as the only remaining important 
branch of mv subject. 



536 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

And first, of gallinaceous fowls, — domestic fowls, so called, — 
comprising the great family of hens, with all its varieties. The 
cock and his whole race seem to be as old as man. He has 
his place in the history of Jewish civilization and the founding 
of Christianity ; he was held in high esteem in Greece and 
Rome ; he is found among the oldest Asiatics ; and he carried 
his prolific and profitable family into Britain when Caesar led 
his legions and his game cocks thither for conquest and sport 
combined. Of the origin of the cock little is known ; and there 
is much speculation still going on with regard to the source 
from whence sprang the many varieties which are now found 
in almost every quarter of the globe. For myself, I have na 
doubt that, springing from a common origin,, our domestic fowls 
have been so influenced by breeding and locality as to have 
been divided at last into what might appear to be distinct races,, 
but what in reality are only different families of the same race.^ 
The Asiatic fowls and the French fowls are widely different, I 
know ; but so are the Shorthorn and the Brittany cattle. And 
as in the latter case I would not doubt a common origin, neither 
would I in the former. 

But whatever may have been the origin, the varieties are now 
so great that it is difficult to decide upon the best ; indeed, it is 
impossible to become familiar with them all, and to thoroughly 
understand their different characteristics and merits. 

Of the Asiatics, I have no doubt that the Light Brahmas are 
the best. They are quiet, hardy, and thrifty ; they bear confine- 
ment well ; and when properly fed are almost as prolific in eggs 
as the small varieties brought from the Mediterranean. They 
are clumsy sitters and not good hatchers ; but if you confine 
them to eleven eggs to a sitting, and give them a roomy nest, 
they will do pretty well. Their eggs are of good size and 
heavy. They can be hatched with Safety in early spring, 
and can be rapidly fed into a size and condition requisite for 
marketable spring chickens. 

I wish I could say all this for the other Asiatic fowls ; but, 
so far as my observation goes, I cannot. The Dark Brahmas 
are indolent, careless of their nests, lay but few eggs, and are 



THE SMALLER ANIMALS OF THE FARM. 537 

filled wilii a constant desire to sir. The Buff Cochins are 
large, clumsy, and indifferent to the object for which a hen was 
created. The Partridge Cochins are very apt to become mis- 
shapen, with hump backs and wry tails. They make an excel- 
lent table bird, so far as the quality of the meat is concerned ; 
but they require great care lest they degenerate, and they 
neither lay nor sit as an ambitious hen should. The Black 
and ^Vhite Cochins have their advocates, but I doubt whether 
in attributes or accomplishments they equal the Light Brahmas, 
which combine in themselves all known Asiatic excellences. 

Of the smaller varieties, I think they may be divided into 
English, French, and Mediterranean. Of these, I place the 
English first, because, while they are somewhat difficult to 
breed, they stand deservedly high for the table, and many of 
them for the production of eggs. The Dorkings, white and 
gray, are both valuable, though somewhat tender, and for the 
fancier not easy to breed to a feather. The English Games are 
all splendid birds, and although, like all Games, inclined to be 
wild and pugnacious, they are admirable birds to breed, and 
most admirable to cross. Their flesh is of the finest quality. 
In this class I will place the Dominiques, which are highly 
prized by those who breed them, and the Plymouth Rocks, an 
artificial breed made up probably of the Black Malay and the 
Dominique, and distinguished for the irregularity with which 
they breed, the zeal with which they strip each other of their 
feathers, and the readiness with which they take every disease 
known to the poultry world. When successfully bred, however, 
they rank among the best of all fowls for the table. The 
Bolton Grays are compact, solid, small, handsome, and good 
layers. 

The introduction of French fowls will undoubtedly be of 
great advantage to breeders of poultry in this country. The 
Creve-Coeurs are very attractive ; and the Houdans, said now 
to be the favorite breed in France, are rapidly becoming accli- 
mated, and are hardy, prolific, solid birds. For crossing with 
larger fowls they are very valuable. In this class may be 
included the Hamburgs, the Polands, the Golden Topknots, and 



S3^ THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

the Russian and Turkish fowls, — all furnishing an opportunity 
to gratify every variety of taste. 

The fecundity of the Mediterranean fowls is well known and 
remarkable. Of these, the White Leghorns stand high, and 
represent undoubtedly that large class of hens which have for 
years been brought from Southern Europe, and have been 
prized for their great production of eggs. They lay well, and 
breed well. The Brown Leghorns, a beautiful and lively breed, 
are good layers, but they breed irregularly, and are too resdess 
for comfort or convenience. The Black Spanish has long been 
known and recognized as among the best of our pure-bred 
fowls. Fowls have recently been brought from Sicily which 
hold high rank among those which I have already mentioned. 

The Frizzles, Silkies, and Bantams, bred, as they are, more 
for taste than utility, I leave to the fancier alone. 

But when you leave the breeds, and devote yourself to the 
Dunghill fowl, the work of poultry peace and prosperity has 
begun. I have known many a successful raiser of poultry to 
be led into the difficulties and trials of a fancy-breeder bent on 
the exact production of a feather, simply to learn that his day 
of trouble had come. This Dunghill fowl comes of a judicious 
crossing of breeds, and may consequently be of every shape and 
color ; a cross of the Brown Leghorn and Light Brahma pro- 
ducing an excellent variety, a cross of Houdan and Light 
Brahma producing another, of Creve-Coeur and Light Brahma 
another, and a good, strong, solid cock of mixed breed with a 
good, solid hen of similar breed, another. Li fact, the mixed 
fowls seem to be the farmers' fowl, especially, being good for 
the table, the market, laying, and hatching. I find one little 
record of this mode of producing fowls which may be interest- 
ing. Mr. Coons, a farmer in Rensselaer County, who is very 
curious in the breed of his fowls, began about twenty years ago 
with the pure Canton or Malay breed ; but, finding them rather 
poor layers and unprofitable sitters, he first crossed them with 
the Dominique cock, and then introduced white cocks with 
yellow legs ; and afterwards, by selection, keeping in view the 
yellow legs, small combs and gills, and the small tail and peculiar 



THE SMALLER AALUALS OE THE EARAL 539 

form to the breed, he has succeeded in retaining those charac- 
teristics, and has reduced them to the size of our common fowls 
and of a pure white color. Mr. Coons informed me that they 
were now good layers, good sitters, and, notwithstanding he had 
been breeding " in and in " for the last ten years, but always 
selecting the best, I must confess I have never seen a more 
healthy looking yard of fowls. There were about sixty in the 
yard, and my attention was first arrested by their pure white 
color, yellow bills and legs, small tails of the hens and short 
plumes of the cocks. 




GROUP OF FRENCH AND ENGLISH FOWLS. 

Having provided yourself with hens, the next business is to 
provide them a place to live in. Everv observer knows that 
the sunny side of a barn, or a woodshed, is the favorite resort 
of fowls, and that, left to run at large and find their own retreat, 
they will, if supplied with an abundance of proper food, almost 
always do well. But in these davs of sfardens and flower-beds 



540 THE FARM- YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

it is impossible to give fowls this amount of freedom, and we 
are obliged to provide some form of a building devoted to their 
accommodation ; and a hen-house has become as common as a 
stable or a cow-barn. In erecting this structure be careful 
not to make it too expensive. For the gratification of the taste 
the hen-house may be made to vie with a pagoda in the extrav- 
agance of its erection and outfit ; but for the purposes of the 
farm a simple and economical building will be sufficient for all 
practical uses, and will often afford more real comfort to the 
fowls than a more costly structure, k house twelve or fifteen feet 
wide, with the roof sloping one way, and having on its lower 
side, which should open to the south, windows constructed like 
the glazed frames of a hotbed, and with a length sufficient for 
the accommodation required, is the best form so far as my obser- 
vation goes. This building may be divided into rooms about 
fifteen feet in length, if more than one house is necessary, and 
each room may be supplied with roosts and laying-boxes to suit 
the taste of the owner. The simplest laying-boxes are the best, 
and the most convenient are those which can easily be removed 
after being used for a time and cleaned with hot water and 
lime. Beneath the roosts keep a bed of sand about three inches 
deep, into which the droppings of the hens may fall, and in 
which the hens themselves may wallow. This room should be 
supplied with proper feed-boxes, one for corn and wheat screen- 
ings, one for daily mixture of shorts and hot water, and one for 
crushed bones or oyster-shells, with which the fowls should 
always be supplied. There should also be in this room a vessel 
containing clean water, and a box of slacked lime or ashes in 
which the fowls can dust themselves. The room should be 
whitewashed, and the roosts should be washed from time to time 
with whale oil soap and water. Each room, or the house, if it 
is single, should be provided with a yard well enclosed by a 
wire or tall picket fence, and into this yard the fowls should be 
allowed to run freely. ^Vhen the hens desire to sit, they should 
be removed from this house and furnished with accommodations 
elsewhere. Movable sitting-boxes are useful, which can be 
placed in quiet and secluded parts of the barn or outbuildings. 



THE SMALLER ANIMALS OE THE FARM. 54 1 

Food and water should be placed within easy reach of sitting 
hens. 

Cracked corn is the best and most economical food for fowls, 
but they should never be kept on any one kind of food ; oats, 
kitchen scraps, buckwheat, bonnyclabber, sunflower-seeds, and 
other changes should be made. Never feed all they will eat, 
but stop when they cease to be greedy for food. Lime, burned 
oyster-shells, and shells of their own eggs will assist them in 
forming new sliells. Give chickens plenty of room and ploughed 
ground to scratch in. If you do not want the hens in the 
ploughed land, fasten the coop near it and let the chickens run. 
But it is better, after the first week or two, to let them all run, 
calling them to the house at least once a day to make them feel 
at home there. 

The average cost of keeping fowls of all kinds, with corn 
at $ I a bushel, and small grain in proportion, will be not far 
from % 1.25 per year. 

Millet, boiled potatoes, cabbage-leaves, or bits of turnips and 
animal food should be given the fowls from time to time 
through the winter. 

Sitting hens should be allowed to cover eleven or thirteen 
eggs, and no more. They will sit three weeks, at the end of 
which time the eggs should hatch, if they are to hatch at all. 
For about twenty-four hours after birth the chickens cannot only 
do well enough without any extraneous nourishment, but will 
be far more likely to thrive subsequently, if let alone, than 
if crammed or incited to eat prematurely. More chickens are 
destroyed by over-feeding than are lost by the want of it. It is, 
however, well to turn them in among other chickens that already 
feed themselves ; they will, in such cases, generally follow the 
example of the rest and pick away at whatever is around. 

A roomy, boarded coop in a dry, sunny spot is the best posi- 
tion for them during the first month ; after which it may be left 
open during the day, for the hen to retire to when she pleases. 
In quiet, grassy places it is scarcely necessary to coop the hen 
at all. As to food, they may have everything which is not ab- 
solutely poisonous ; though if wet food is given the chicken is 



542 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

then obliged to take water, whether it requires it or not, in 
order to get a sufBcient supply of solid food, and this is liable 
to bring on diseases of the crop and intestines ; whereas, if the 
food is dry, they can supply themselves with food and water 
according to their pleasure. If Indian meal is well boiled, and 
fed not too moist, it will answer a very good purpose, particu- 
larly if the chickens are more than eight or ten days old. Pure 
water must be placed near them in such a manner as to enable 
them to drink without getting into the water, which by wetting 
their feathers benumbs and injures them. Meat and insect diet 
are almost necessary ; but whatever the food the meals must be 
given at short intervals, — as much as they can swallow and as 
often as they can eat. With all their industry, they are only 
half clad till flesh and bone stop growing for a while, and allow 
down and feathers to overtake them. 

Chickens should not be let out of their coops too early in the 
morning or while the dew is on the ground ; still less should 
they be suffered to range over the wet grass, which is a com- 
mon cause of disease and death. They should also be guarded 
against sudden unfavorable changes of the weather, more par- 
ticularly if attended with rain. Nearly all the diseases of galli- 
naceous fowls arise from cold moisture. 

The period at which chickens are left to shift for themselves 
depends upon the disposition of the hen. Some will continue 
their attention to their chickens till they are nearly full grown, 
others will cast them off much earlier. In the latter case, an 
eye should be kept to them for a few days ; for chickens in this 
half-grown state are much more liable to disease than when they 
were apparently tender little weaklings, crowded under their 
mother's wings. They should be kept in a diy, warm place ; 
dryness is especially necessary. 

Most of the diseases to which fowls are liable arise from neg- 
lect, or mismanagement, or exposure. Irregular and injudicious 
feeding, improper food, filthy coops, damp location, bad water, 
all tend to destroy the health and to bring on those diseases 
which are more easily prevented than cured. From indiscreet 
feeding arise all the diseases which attack the alimentary organs 



THE SMALLER ANIMALS OE THE EARM. 545. 

and destroy the health and vigor of the young chick. Neglect 
of the houses, laying-boxes, sitting-boxes, and coops is pretty 
sure to engender lice, a trouble to which fowls are especially 
liable. Pip, or gapes, arises, I have no doubt, from the use of 
putrid and dirty water in hot weather. Now the first business 
is to avoid all these difficulties ; the next business is to cure 
them. In cases of loss of appetite and indigestion, the food 
should be changed according to the nature of the disease and 
the kind of food which has induced it. To prevent lice and to 
destroy them, whitewash the walls and roosting-poles. Burn 
flour of sulphur in the house, first having driven out the fowls, 
the fumes of which will penetrate every crevice and destroy the 
pests. Clean out the old nests, and when a new one is made 
rub into it dry tobacco-leaves, pulverizing them between the 
hands. It is a good plan to mix a little flour of sulphur with 
Indian meal and feed the mixture to the fowls now and then. 
If the chickens become infested with the vermin, a little lard, in 
which a small quantity of sulphur has been mixed, may be care- 
fully rubbed into the feathers on a dry, warm day, and the rem- 
edy is very efficacious. The same remedy will avail in case of 
the loss of feathers. For the gapes, turpentine seems to be a 
specific. It may be used by mixing at the rate of five or ten 
drops to a pint of meal in preparing dough for the chickens ; 
or it may be applied with a feather pushed into the windpipe. 
Chickens troubled with this disease should have as free a run 
as possible. Roup, which is another distemper caused by cold 
and dampness, and which is attended with great swelling of the 
head and eyelids, may be cured by keeping the fowls warm and 
giving them plenty of water and scalded bran. Wash the eyes 
with a solution of sulphate of zinc. Prepare a mixture of pul- 
verized charcoal and of new yeast, each three parts ; of pulver- 
ized sulphur, two parts ; of flour, one part ; of water, sufficient 
to moisten the mass ; mix well and make into doses of the size 
of a hazel-nut, and give one three times a day. Cleanliness and 
warmth are especially necessary in treating this disease and in 
preventing it. 

Turkeys. — The breeding and rearing of turkeys is a most 



544 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

difficult business, inasmuch as the lien is very much disposed to 
steal her nest in places where she is liable to be invaded by 
vermin, and the young are very sensitive, and liable to be killed 
by wet and cold and injudicious feeding. When the hen has 
been left to herself, however, during her laying, and has chosen 
a nest at a small distance from the house, there is hardly any- 
thing to be done, for she will leave it with difficulty; and it is 
even prudent not to thwart her, for she generally hatches her 
own brood safely, and the young ones are the stronger for it. 

When the chicks are hatched the hen and brood must be 
housed during a month or six weeks, dependent upon the state 
of the weather. The scorching sun and the rain are above all 
hurtful to them ; superfluous moisture, whether external or in- 
ternal, is death to them ; therefore all slop victuals should be 
avoided. The utmost cleanliness is necessary, and a dry gravel 
layer is most proper. High places exposed to the east or south 
are those which always agree best with the young turkeys, espe- 
cially when they have a separate yard. 

The best food for them is eggs boiled hard and chopped fine ; 
thick sour milk boiled, which makes a thick curd ; the whey is 
separated by putting it into a colander or coarse sieve, and 
when cold rubbed fine in the hands and fed to them in small 
parcels and often. Indian-meal wet in the ordinary way is 
injurious to them until they are several weeks old. Chives cut 
fine and mixed with their food is eaten with great avidity. In 
case of the chicks appearing sickly and the feathers ruffled, in- 
dicating a chill from severity or change of weather, ground malt 
with a little barley-meal is allowed, and by way of medicine 
powdered caraway or coriander seeds. Boiled meat pulled 
into strings is a valuable and nutritious food for them. Water 
should be given them in very shallow vessels, in which they 
cannot wet themselves, as this would be very injurious. In 
order to prevent the mother turkey from robbing the chicks of 
their food, they should be fed in a separate coop and at such a 
distance from her as to be out of her reach. 

At two periods of their lives turkeys are very apt to die, name- 
ly, about the third day after they are hatched, or when they throw 



THE SMALLER ANLMALS OF THE FARM. 545 

out wliat is called the red-head, which they do at about six 
weeks old. It is a ver}' critical period in the life of a turkej', 
much more so than the period of moulting ; the food must 
therefore be increased and rendered more nutritious by adding 
boiled eggs, wheaten flour, bruised hemp-seed, or a few bruised 
beans. 

It is only when the cold comes, and when turkeys are about 
six months old, that they should be fed with better and more 
plentiful food in order to increase their size and plumpness for 
market. Indian-corn, ground barley, rice, and other articles 
used to fatten common fowls are considered best for the turkey. 
The most successful mode of fattening I have found from 
experience to be to shut up the flock in a warm, well-lighted 
room, and feed them on corn, with a liberal supply of boiled 
potatoes mixed with meal and pulverized charcoal. This latter 
substance appears to have a most remai^kable effect in increas- 
ing the weight and improving the flavor and tenderness of this 
bird. In fact, I think a liberal use of charcoal is indispensable 
in the proper preparation of turkeys for the table or the market. 
Their weight when well fattened should average twelve pounds ; 
their living and dead weight is as eighteen and twelve pounds. 

Aquatic Fowls. — At the head of this class stands the goose, 
a bird whose habits, in a wild state, fill our imaginations with 
the grandest pictures of nature as he pursues his lofty flight 
to the awful solitudes that surround the pole, and, returning, 
bathes himself in the luxuriance of the tropics ; a bird whose 
domestic history is a strange commingling of useful service and 
bad ways, of ancient renown and modern inferiority. No man 
ought to keep geese who has near neighbors ; but to show what 
can be done with them I will quote the following account of 
anserine agriculture, taken from the Maine Farmer. " I once 
knew," says a writer in that paper, " a couple of industrious sis- 
ters who lived near a never-failing brook or stream in Massa- 
chu'ietts, who kept generally through the winter thirty geese, 
male and female. They had erected some suitable, but not 
costly sheds, in which they had apartments for them to lay, sit, 
and hatch. Their food in the winter was meal of various kinds 



546 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

to some extent, but principally apples and roots. In the sum- 
mer they had a pasture enclosed with a stone-wall or board 
fence which embraced the water. They kept their wings so 
clipped that they could not fly over such a fence. Their own- 
ers well know what we all know, that live geese-feathers are a 
cash article at a fair price. I'hey picked off their feathers three 
times in the season. Those thirty geese wintered would raise 
seventy-five goslings, and of course the owners had that num- 
ber to dispose of in the fall or the beginning of winter when 
they are sent to market and again picked, making four times 
they obtained feathers from those they wintered, and twice 
from the young ones that they had killed." While I have 
nothing to say of the perspicuity and grammar of the quotation, 
I recommend its statement to all who have a pond or a running 
stream with a little waste land adjoining, which they would 
profitably utilize. And let me add that clipping at a proper 
season is an innocent and humane operation compared with the 
severity of plucking. 

Geese will generally take pretty good care of themselves, 
although they require feeding twice a day if they are expected 
to reach a good size. In fattening, however, they must be 
carefully attended to. Confinement, meal, and skimmed milk 
will make a good green goose at two months old. Steamed 
potatoes, mixed with ground buckwheat or oats, will render 
geese cooped in a dark place fat enough in three weeks. Gen- 
erally they can do best fattened in the month of November, to 
accomplish which they should be kept clean and well fed. 

Ducks are the most sociable, garrulous, interesting, and un- 
profitable birds which the farmer can feed. They hold the 
most noisy assemblies, and keep up the most restless activity of 
any known living beings, not excepting man. They are carniv- 
orous as well as granivorous and graminivorous ; and will eat 
flesh, garbage, flies, insects, fish, corn, and peas, with equal 
relish. They are prolific and careless layers. They will do 
well when provided with a creek or small pond, and they will 
do well without it. Their parades are inimitable, and their 
repose is as solemn and profound as night itself. The best 



THE SMALLER ANLMAI.S OE THE EARM. S47 

agricultural clucks are undoubtedly the Rouen and the Ayles- 
bury. 

A duck should be allowed to sit upon from nine to eleven 
eersfs as soon as she has laid her litter. At this time she should 
be especially cared for, and furnished with food and drink. 
The duck is generally disposed to take good care of its eggs, 
and often covers them with feathers in order to prevent their 
being chilled during her absence from the nest. Young ducks 
should be carefully fed with a variety of food, and should not be 
allowed to go to the water until they have reached considerable 
size and strength. The pools and streams have great tempta- 
tions for them, but they are apt to be very fatal. 

Ground oats and corn, mixed with boiled potatoes, with now 
and then a little meat chopped fine and added, is the food best 
calculated to fatten a duck speedily and well. 

I have endeavored to set forth in concise form the most im- 
portant facts and suggestions with regard to the poultry usually 
found on our farms, and with this I must be allowed to termi- 
nate my work for the Club. My mind is too slow, and ray body 
too feeble, to allow me to devote my time to any service which 
is not absolutely necessary, and I find an unexplored path is by 
no means easy for me to travel with my infirmities. Old age 
requires a familiar and well-worn highway. I can pray for you, 
but I fear I cannot instruct you. And, thanking you for your 
attention this evening, I now take my place among the learners 
in the Club. 

The Squire was heartily congratulated upon his essays 
relating to the smaller animals of the farm, and he was 
especially thanked for his elaborate views upon poultry, a 
mere sketch of which it has been possible to give here. He 
answered the many questions put to him at the close of 
his reading with patience and intelligence ; and, notwith- 
standing his humility, he seemed to be highly gratified 
with the evidence of belief in his knowledge and wisdom 
manifested by the inquiring members about him. 

Before the adjournment of the Club, a vote was passed 



548 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

requesting William Jones to prepare an exhaustive essay 
upon the Horse, as the final investigation of the Club for 
the season, and as completing the matters of legitimate 
agriculture. This being accomplished, the members bade 
Mr. Hopkins good night, and returned to their homes. 



THE HORSE. 



SAf^ 



THIRTY-FIFTH MEETING. 



THE HORSE. 



MRS. HOWE'S DEATH. -MR. HOWE'S TRIALS AND SUBMISSION. —WIL- 
LIAM JONES TELLS ABOUT HORSES. 

JMRS. HOWE was known in Jotham and in the regions 
round about as the most charming and exemplary of 
ministers' wives. She was born in affluence, was de- 
scended from a long line of cultivated and prosperous 
ancestors, had inherited 
the sagacity and common- 
sense which secure suc- 
cess and are confirmed to 
the condition of inher- 
ited faculties by it, was 3^t^ 
possessed of a delicate 
and sensitive organization 
and that keen sensibililty 
which always grows lux- 
uriantly on a moral soil 
which has not been chilled and hardened by the frosts 
of adversity. It was said of her in her childhood that she 
was intended to adorn the mansion of wealth and distinc- 
tion ; but she came under the influence of the handsome 
young minister while she was yet a young girl, and before 
she had learned the difference between the self-sacrificing 
demands of cultivated poverty and the burdensome cares 
of luxury and ease. Stepping suddenly from the position 
of a petted and admired school-girl, with a home where 




FUNERAL PROCESSION. 



550 I HE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM 

every comfort and indulgence was affectionately lavished 
upon the only daughter of the house, into the duties and 
responsibilities of a Puritan parish minister's economical 
home, she entered at once upon her work-; and nowhere 
within all the circuit of that association of clergymen to 
which Mr. Howe belonged could there be found the equal 
of his beautiful wife in all Christian virtues and graces. 
She was so much beloved by his less fortunate brethren,, 
that his house was their favorite place of resort ; and there 
it was that they found that refinement and taste which 
were too often denied them in their own households. Her 
heart warmed constantly towards the people of her hus- 
band's flock, who, high and low, rich and poor, young and 
old, felt that there was one spot at least in which they 
could all find a home. In partaking of their simple and 
humble ways of life, she seemed to forget the more elabo- 
rate customs into which she was born, without laying aside 
the delicacy of thought and feeling and expression which 
the associations of her childhood and youth had cultivated. 
From a thoughtless girl she became at once a Christian 
woman ; and to the deference and respectful admiration 
with which she was treated by all the villagers before her 
marriage were added the love and confidence and respect 
of a delighted parish, when she became the wife of their 
beloved pastor. That they were proud of her was mani- 
fest. Her hospitality was especially charming to them ;, 
and as they gathered in her well-warmed and cheerfully 
lighted room at the sociable evening parties which she was 
fond of calling together, they evidently felt that their pow- 
ers were invigorated, and that their thoughts and feelings 
and manners were refined and purified. They were put 
upon their good behavior without awkward or painful re- 
straint ; and it was more than half suspected that she 
exerted a more powerful influence upon the community by 
her example and presence than did Mr. Howe, armed with 



THE HORSE. 55 I 

all the power of the church. Dr. Parker always spoke 
of her as the flower of her family, who were his father's 
devoted and useful friends. Squire Wright was always 
ready to listen respectfully to her opinion. Peter Ilsley, 
so long as he lived, took off his hat in her presence. Mrs. 
Thomas always warmed and glowed and expanded under 
her influence. William Jones invariably put his best foot 
foremost in Mrs. Howe's parlor. Mr. Hopkins loved her 
for her father's sake, who was his old commercial friend. 
Charles Ingalls and Clara Bell looked admiringly on her 
gentle and dignified manners, and learned a lesson of 
deportment which they never forgot in the elevated and 
conspicuous paths which they travelled in after life. When 
she entered, the slang of the grocery was hushed. With 
a people known among themselves as " Uncle Joe," and 
"Aunt Betsy," and "Ma'am Jess," and " Cap'n Phin," and 
" Sally Bliss," she was spoken of respectfully as Mrs. Howe, 
and without exception she received this mark of deference 
from all. That she had faults, who that is human can 
doubt .'' But they were faults which indicated a kind and 
chivalrous spirit, and were free from meanness and de- 
ception. If she was roused to indignation, all her friends 
knew that it was over some wrong towards the feeble and 
defenceless. If she expressed too strongly her approval 
and regard, they understood that it was for encourage- 
ment, and not for flattery. If she became stubborn and 
dogmatical-, it was under the influence of strong conviction, 
or a generous impulse to sustain a friend. If she was im- 
perious, the sudden impulse could be traced to a firm and 
honest faith, attended by a consciousness of power. And 
these somewhat defiant faults were tolerated, perhaps al- 
most admired, by her friends, who saw in them the natural 
and necessary absence of dishonesty, and jealousy, and sus- 
picion, and hardness of heart. 

For twenty years Mrs. Howe had lived in Jotham and 



552 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

had impressed herself upon the community. Her children 
were growing up about her ; and so accustomed were her 
daily companions to her commanding power, that neither 
her children, nor her husband, nor her friends observed 
that an unusual feebleness was coming upon her, and that 
the divine light of premature decay was beginning to irra- 
diate her spiritual face. Mr. Howe knew how delicate she 
had always been, but he also knew how strong she had 
been through the inspiration of a determined spirit, which 
no obstacle could daunt. Her children knew that she 
was not strong as Mrs. Thomas, the substantial and 
motherly, was ; but they had a feeling that she was su- 
perior to all infirmities, and that her slender cord was not 
to be broken. They had observed with anxiety that often 
during the winter months the cold seemed to oppress her, 
and that her voice failed her when she attempted her 
customary reading aloud in her family circle. She drooped 
too, —but their eyes were blinded to that by the over- 
confidence of love. The warm days of spring came on, 
and she fainted and languished in their enfeebling heat, — 
but nobody was quite strong in the spring. And it was 
with overwhelming grief that Mr. Howe received from Dr. 
Parker the sad and distressing announcement of her sud- 
den and hopeless decline. 

" O my Father," said he, " let this cup pass away from 
me ; nevertheless, not my will but thine be done." 

And then he who had led so many mourners through 
the dark valley of sorrow prepared himself to walk alone 
in its bitter experience. To him the task was hard in- 
deed. He had a great and sustaining faith, it is true ; 
but he felt that life without her who had filled his soul 
with pride and strength, and whose companionship had 
always lifted him above the ordinary affairs and associa- 
tions of his daily life with the common people about him, 
would be a blasted and withered existence, worse by far 



THE HORSE. 553 

than death itsell'. He concealed his anxiety and main- 
tained his cheerfuhiess, even when she was compelled to 
withdraw from her daily duties, and rest and wait patiently 
in her own room. To the broken-hearted minister the 
opening spring was an agony. He saw the mild days 
come and go ; he knew that the flowers and buds were 
coming forth, and that the air was laden with their per- 
fume ; and he walked through the radiance of this season 
of hope and promise as he would have traversed the 
shadowy regions of a bewildering dream. He was faith- 
fully attentive to all his duties ; taught his children as 
their mother had taught them ; cheered the broken-hearted, 
as he had done when she was by his side ; and ministered 
to his people with the same courage as when his wife and 
children sat before him, and inspired him to his sacred ser- 
vice. But the weight was terrible. The new hope which 
filled his soul as each morning dawned upon him led him 
only to deeper and deeper despair as each day declined. 
The strong and ruddy faces of his people seemed to mock 
him, until at last he felt withdrawn from all the common 
affairs of life, and, unmindful of children and friends, he 
entered with her whom he had loved so long into a 
patient and cheerful and exalted journey, which he knew 
would at last bring them both to rest in peace. He felt 
that the ordinary pleasures of life for him were over. He 
knew that his sun was to be darkened in mid heaven ; 
that the light on the hills had faded ; that the joy of his 
home was passing away ; and that over all his landscape 
was settling down a cold gray twilight, which nothing but 
the opening gates of another world could warm and irra- 
diate. For themselves the mysterious journey was begun ; 
and it ended not until their separation was over and their 
joy was complete. When Mr. Howe realized that he 
was to be left alone in his work, and that his way through 
life was erelong to be solitary, he felt that his pride was 



554 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. . 

gone and his glory was quenched, and that not until the 
"shining shore" was revealed to him, as it would soon be 
to her, would he return to that full measure of happiness 
which he had thus far enjoyed as a husband and father^ 
and a well-poised and useful parish minister, supported 
in his work by her whom Heaven has sent to man tO' 
cherish his gentlest virtues and to quicken his strongest 
faculties. 

And so it was. Mrs. Howe died, and Mr. Howe was. 
left alone. It was on the morning of a bright and still 
summer day that she passed away. Her last night on 
earth had been spent with him to whom she had been 
faithfully and tenderly devoted through all her life of love^ 
in a communion whose memory was never to pass away 
from him who was to bear the anguish of parting. It was 
a night of sweet stillness and spiritual glory to them both. 
There was no agony there ; but as the hours rolled away 
the beauty of her who was approaching heaven grew 
brighter and brighter, and the faith of him whom she 
supported by her divine influence in this hour of trial 
grew stronger and stronger. For her children, whom she 
was to see no more, she left the fervent outpouring of a 
dying mother's heart. For her people she left her ex- 
ample and her prayers. To her husband she gave the 
radiant faith of a Christian, the tender and gentle endear- 
ments which she hoped would soothe his sorrow, and the 
assurance that they should meet again in that eternal 
home to which she led the way. And so as the morning 
opened in all its freshness and beauty she fell asleep, to 
wake in heaven. 

In all that followed the minister bore himself with a 
degree of cheerful resignation which was more touching 
than the wildest grief Not a tear was seen to fall from 
his eye ; but over all his countenance there fell a soft and 
holy light, as he seemed to walk with her spirit and to be 



riiE HORSE. 555, 

led by her invisible hand. To his children he became, 
through the constant memory of her life, father and mother 
combined. To his people he presented the best and purest 
of his service, and that support and consolation which come 
from the sad experience of life. To himself he was a heart- 
broken man, the bitterness of whose solitude was known to 
himself alone, and whose daily companion was an angel in 
heaven. 

To return patiently and cheerfully to his work was a 
recognized obligation with Mr. Howe ; and he was found 
moving among his people as usual. But can they who are 
engaged in the ordinary business of life, and whose minds 
are led away from their sorrows by their duties, tell or 
imagine the heroic resignation and composure required by 
him who, in the stillness of the country, and with the 
intensified life which belongs to a parish minister, is com- 
pelled to perform the services of his church before a con- 
gregation, every one of whom reminds him of his loss, and 
whose spiritual needs sharpen his sensibilities to a painful 
realization of his own .'' Who can tell the weary and wear- 
ing work which falls upon him who, while bearing his own 
burdens, is compelled to "rejoice with those who do re- 
joice, and weep with those who weep " .-' To be led inta 
the depths of life with a mind worn by trial, and a heart 
broken by grief; to sympathize with the joyful and to 
console the suffering, when every excited sentiment and 
thought tears open one's own wounds, — this is the inten- 
sity of the burden which falls upon the minister of God 
who would faithfully perform his duty in joy and sorrow 
alike. And this, the keenest trial, fell upon Mr. Howe. 
The affairs of his sympathizing people went on as usual. 
The meeting-house was thronged on Sunday ; the eldest 
daughter of Sam Barker had arranged to be married, and 
the wedding could not be postponed ; the young wife of 
William Person died suddenly, and the grief-stricken bus- 



556 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

band must be consoled; the child soon followed the mother, 
and another wound must be healed ; the schools were to be 
visited ; the daily trials and troubles of the flock were to 
be reheved. And this work was faithfully done, while to 
the side of the mourning minister and his family came Mr. 
Hopkins with his generous courtesy, and Dr. Parker with 
his cheering ways, learned at the bedside of his patients, 
and Squire Wright with his worldly philosophy, and Fanny 
Parker with her fresh and inspiring energy, and John 
Thomas with his hearty good-will, and Mrs. Thomas with 
her matronly comfort, and Charles Ingalls with a manly 
and honest courage, and Clara Bell with her sweet and 
vitalizing beauty ; and over the kindly group, to the eye 
of the minister, hovered the spirit of her whose memory 
was cherished in silence and whose influence was felt more 
and more as the days went on. 

During the illness of Mrs. Howe the Club continued its 
deliberations, and it was from the kind and sympathizing 
associations of its meetings that Mr. Howe found much 
relief and comfort during those trying weeks. To William 
Jones had been assigned the duty of preparing an essay 
upon the Horse, and he had turned his attention to the 
work with such assiduity and skill that he had cheered as 
well as enlightened his companions. He had formed an 
intimate acquaintance with a young student of medicine in 
an adjoining town, and had learned from him that he was 
preparing a paper upon the selection and care of horses ; 
and to this student Mr. Jones applied for aid in his under- 
taking. The essay which he read, occupying two evenings, 
was the concluding work of the Club for the season, and 
so far as any record can be found, forever. Mr. Jones, 
having familiarized himself with the contents of the paper 
which the young student had prepared, presented himself 
at the Club in most elaborate attire, with his hair brought 
to glossy curls by the skill and toil of the barber, and his 



THE HORSE. 



557 



linen perfumed with an abundance of home-made cologne ; 
and read as follows to his admiring audience : — '■ 

WILLIAM JONES ON THE HORSE* 

I shall not occupy your time on the discussion of the origin 
of the horse, or his relations to state and society, upon which 
so nianv of our enthusiastic writers are fond of dwelline:. I 




AMERICAN TROTTING HORSE. 



shall proceed at once to describe what I consider a good horse, 
and then discuss how he can be bred, and how he should be fed 
and cared for. 

A good horse, an animal fit for all work, — the track, the farm, 

* This essay was evidently publislied at a later day in that part of " The 
Perfect Horse," written by the author of this work under the head of "Agri- 
culture and the Horse." As read by Mr. Jones, many years ago, it varied 
somewhat from that which is now presented ; but it is thought better to give 
it in the form most suited to these times. No doubt the young medical 
student and the author are one and the same person. 



558 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

and the business wagon, — is a horse weighing a httle over ten 
hundred pounds in good road condition ; fifteen hands and two 
inches high (for I find that this height and weight usually go 
together) ; with a head not too fine, wide between the eyes and 
•erect above them ; with a good-sized, steady, and lively ear ; 
■with every bony process sharp and prominent, — even the pro- 
cesses of the first cervical vertebra behind the ears ; with a calm 
and well-set eye, and lips which indicate determination rather 
than delicacy ; a Websterian head, with a neck well muscled, 
well arched, strong and elastic, with active motion and a throttle 
loose and open ; with withers not sharp and thin, but solid and 
strong ; with a shoulder set loosely on, broad and deep at the 
base ; with a strong arm, sinewy leg, short canon-bone, firm and 
not too long or elastic a pastern, and a firm foot ; with a deep 
chest, without a prominent and bulging breastbone ; with a 
round barrel ribbed well back towards the hips, but not so far 
back as to interfere with the action of the hindquarters ; with 
a short back and a slight elevation of the rump just behind 
the coupling ; with a long and strong quarter well muscled in- 
side and outside ; with a hind-leg so set on that the action shall 
be free and open, and with the fore-leg so set on that the toes 
shall not turn out and be liable to brush the knees at speed, 
and that they shall not turn in too much and be subject to 
paddling. The color should be bay with black points as the 
best ; and the temperament should be calm, collected, fearless, 
defiant, with a brain quick to learn and strong to remember. 
This horse, known usually as the " American Trotting Horse, "is 
an animal after his own kind, and I venture to say unequalled 
by any other horse on earth, in all that makes such an animal 
truly valuable in every kind of service. It takes true equine 
genius to make a trotting horse. His mechanism must be as 
well balanced and symmetrical as a locomotive. Propelled as 
he is by one quarter at a time, his progress is the result of nerve 
and strength and dtcision, unknown and utterly ignored in that 
leaping, bounding motion where one end follows the other, as 
is the case of the running horse of the English turf. He must 
•be solid in his foot, strong in his limb, firm in his back, free 



THE HORSE. 559 

and easy in his stride, and, above all things, calm and col- 
lected amidst all the trials of the track and the road which 
tend to throw him off his balance, and reduce him to the level 
of the hare and the fox and the greyhound and the English 
race-horse, running helter-skelter in a natural manner, without 
the exercise of any faculties except those with which nature 
endows the coward when he flies from danger or conflict. 
The American trotter requires bones and muscles and brains ; 
and when he stands high on the list he has them all. For 
compactness of form and ease of motion, for strength, endur- 
ance, and sagacity, he is unequalled. Now we have this ani- 
mal as the natural product of our farms. I know not how it 
has come to pass, but 'it is a fact that the farmer's horse in the 
whole northern section of the United States is peculiar to him- 
self, and is, moreover, peculiarly an American institution. He 
may be and undoubtedly is, on one side or the other, descended 
from the thoroughbred, for anything which can be said to the 
contrary ; but the further he is removed from that rather equiv- 
ocal class of animals the more truly does he become a trotter. 
I look upon him as one result of that social and civil equality 
which, in our own country, makes one man's time as valuable 
as another's, and which authorizes the farmer's boy to take 
the road from the squire, or the parson, or the dealer when- 
ever his colt can do it. Every man in this country who can 
keep a horse wants a good one, and when he has got him he 
wants to avail himself of his horse's powers to make the dis- 
tance between the mill or the meeting-house and his own home 
as short as possible. We all drive on the road ; and this, com- 
bined undoubtedly with certain fortunate aptitudes of climate 
and soil, has given the United States its valuable races of 
trotters. 

I wish it to be thoroughly understood, Mr. President, that I 
fully recognize the value of those old horse progenitors who 
brought into our country many years ago the bone and muscle 
and nerve and wind and capacity of the English thoroughbred 
of that day. I am mindful of the old Messenger and of what 
he and his sons have done ; and I cannot, moreover, forget 



56o THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

that his fame as the ancestor of trotters was established, not in 
Buck's County, Pennsylvania, where he stood two seasons after 
his arrival in this country, in 1780, but on Long Island and 
various other points in New York State, whence his stock was 
distributed throughout the best breeding sections of New Eng- 
land and the Northwest. As the sire of Miller's Damsel (the 
dam of American Eclipse) and of Sir Harry, out of mares of 
acknowledged and recorded pedigrees, he won a fine reputa- 
tion ; but it was as the sire of Mambrino, — whose dam had 
no pedigree except that she was by Sourkrout and of Ham- 
bletonian, whose dam was by Messenger himself, but whose 
granddam was "unknown," — that he won his distinction as 
the ancestor of some of the most remarkable trotters on earth. 
And how as generations went on and that " unknown " blood 
worked in, did the speed of this family increase ! From Mam- 
brino sprang Abdallah, dam Amazonia (by Messenger, dam 
unknown) and Mambrino Paymaster, dam unknown. From 
Abdallah, with his unknown grandmother, we have, two or 
three generations removed, each with his unknown dam, Rys- 
dyk's Hambletonian, with his famous sons Dexter, George 
Wilkes, and Mountain Boy. From Mambrino Paymaster, with 
his unknown dam, we have Mambrino Chief, dam also un- 
known, though said to be of Messenger descent ; and from 
Mambrino Chief we have Lady Thorne, and Mambrino Pilot, 
and Mambrino Patchen, and Ericsson, and Brignoli, and Ash- 
land, in whose pedigrees will be found as many unknown 
dams as there are sires and grandsires. And as I trace the 
blood of the old imported Messenger horse into Maine and 
Vermont, where all the mares were " unknown," what a tribe of 
our earliest and best trotters rises before my vision ! Ripton, 
the gallant " white-legged pony," the favorite of Hiram Wood- 
ruff, the resolute and plucky and triumphant, rivalling Dutch- 
man as a three-miler, and defeating Lady Suffolk, a little 
Eastern horse of Messenger and Morgan breed ; and Daniel 
D. Tompkins, a wonderful little horse ; and General Taylor, " a 
very famous trotter and sticker " ; and Independence, the de- 
light of my boyhood ; and Fanny Pullen, the dam of Trustee, 



THE HORSE. 56 1 

the twenty-miler ; and Shepard Knapp, and Mac, and True John, 
and Green Mountahi Maid, and Gray Vermont, and Sontag, 
and Ethan Allen (dam a Messenger mare), the best balanced 
horse ever seen on a track, the evenest gaited horse from the 
walk cniward ever bred, and the most striking illustration of the 
enervating influence of high feed and rapid work in early life 
ever known in horse annals. These horses, far removed from 
the original thoroughbred, and fortunate in the strain of blood 
which they do possess, springing from families in which an 
admixture of various breeds is undoubtedly to be found ; mem- 
bers of a list honorable and illustrious, commencing with Top- 
gallant, and Whalebone, and Dutchman, and Confidence, and 
^\'ashington, and Rattler, and Lady Suffolk, with their "un- 
known " strains, and ending in our day with Flora Temple, and 
Cioldsmith Maid, and Dexter, and American Girl, and Lucy, 
and Bonner's Pocahontas (the Bates mare), the queen of mares, 
with their great record and their defiance of time and space, — 
these horses, I say, illustrate what I mean by that power of the 
American trotter which is to be obtained by removal, step by 
step, from the form and gait of the thoroughbred. 

But not everywhere does this removal accomplish the object 
Avhich the breeder of horses in America has in view. Old 
Messenger did not leave behind him the same results in Penn- 
sylvania that he did in New York and New England. He met 
nowhere in that more southern region the blood which it was 
necessary to mingle with his own in order to produce the 
genuine American horse. \M'io can tell that his fame as the 
ancestor of a long line of trotters is not due as much to the 
fortunate locality in which his lot was cast as to his own in- 
trinsic merit ? Who can tell that Diomed, and his two famous 
sires. Sir Henry and Duroc, would not have been rivals of Mes- 
senger and his more famous sons Mambrino and Hambletonian, 
had the two families exchanged residences, and Messenger had 
gone into Kentucky among the thoroughbreds of that State, 
while Duroc had cast his lot among the "unknown " mares of 
the North ? 

However this may be. Sir, we have the American horse all 
36 



562 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

along the northern line, from Eastport to Detroit ; ay, still 
farther West, — a fortunate combination of various bloods, in- 
vigorated by the sharp air of our Northern hills ; refreshed 
from our cold Northern streams ; fed into hard bone and vigor- 
ous muscle by our short and sweet Northern pastures ; and 
capable of carrying his sturdy forces and implanting them, for 
a generation at least, among the heavier bones and softer 
muscles of more luxuriant valleys, milder skies, and warmer 
springs. That he gets somewhat of his power from his native 
soil and climate there can be no doubt. But how has he con- 
verted that stilted gait of the thoroughbred into the swinging 
stride and powerful knee-action of the trotter.'* What has 
changed the narrow and confined shoulder of the thoroughbred, 
with its short humerus attached and the necessarily advanced 
position of the fore-leg so near the point of the shoulder, that a 
line falling from thence touches the toe, — to loose shoulder- 
blade and long humerus, long from the elbow to the shoulder, 
so that a line falling from this point touches the ground far in 
front of the foot, and to that massive and muscular base which 
wins for the good trotter that common exclamation, "What a' 
rousing shoulder 1 " What has cut down those sharp, thin 
withers of the thoroughbred, and filled in the space above the 
top of the shoulder-blades with such a mass of strong muscle ? 
What has strengthened that lower jaw, so that the horse and 
his driver may be made one through the bit and rein ? What 
has dropped the points of the hips below that level of the rump, 
where they stand usually with the thoroughbred? What has 
judiciously cooled the ardor, and increased the patience, and 
enlarged the sagacity of the thoroughbred ? What has incased 
the untiring channels of true blood in a new frame of [propor- 
tions hitherto unknown to them, until they were subjected 
to the influence of American companions and American wants 
and American institutions ? Probably no single cause, but 
many combined. The habit of driving, to which I have al- 
luded, has undoubtedly done much towards bringing about 
this result. But this alone is not sufficient. And I am con- 
strained to believe that we owe much of the shape and stride 



THE HORSE. 565 

which distinguish our best trotters to a larger or smaller in- 
fusion of Canadian blood, derived from the early importations 
of Norman horses into Canada, which have been improved 
in size and quality by the soil and climate of their new home. 
In very many of our good trotters this is manifest. All the 
descendants of Henry Clay (whose sire was Long Island Black 
Hawk and whose dam was Surry, a mare of great speed from 
Canada), especially the get of Cassius M. Clay (a son of 
Henry), have the thick jowl and heavy ear and round muscle 
and thick sinews and coarse-grained foot of the family from 
which their mother sprang. How the Morrills show it, even 
when brought down to Young Morrill, and through him and 
that wonderful Steve-French mare to Fearnaught and his sons ! 
How a|)parent it was in Hiram Drew I Sometimes there is 
enough to make them faint, and sometimes enough to send 
them along. So Pilot, " a genuine Cannuck," came over into 
the States and stirred up the thorough-blood to the extent of 
Pilot, Jr., and his rousing son, John Morgan, and rushing 
daughter the dam of Mambrino Pilot. So from a Canadian 
mare, Rysdyk's Hambletonian got Bruno and the brother of 
Bruno, and their full sister Brunette. So " a small pacing Can- 
nuck " brought forth " Gift, a chestnut gelding by Mambrino 
Pilot," who, " at four years old recei\ed five forfeits, and chal- 
lenged, through ' The Spirit of the Times,' any colt of the same 
age to trot to harness or to wagon, for a thousand dollars, with- 
out being accepted." So Old Morrill received and transmitted 
that tremendous stride which his family will never lose until 
they are swamped by the daisy-cutters of Virginia or the Eng- 
lish turf. So that wonderful little incarnation of equine genius, 
Justin Morgan, son of True Briton and the Great Unknown 
mare, improved and elevated the cold horse-blood of Vermont 
(undoubtedly largely filled by French infusion at the time of his 
arrival there) up to the courage and endurance and style of 
Sherman and Green Mountain, and at last to the speed of Black 
Hawk and Ethan Allen and Lady Sutton and General Knox 
and Lancet and General Lyon and Honest Allen and Gilbreth 
Knox. And so the thousands of hardy, medium-sized, enduring 



564 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

horses in the service of the family, in the stage-coach, on livery, 
on the track, and in the road go whirling on with their Norman 
stride and their thoroughbred wind and courage. 

Hence, then, our American horse ; and, taking him as he is, I 
have an idea that we can so direct his breeding as to preserve 
to ourselves all his best qualities and even enlarge and improve 
them. I am aware that the breeding of horses is difficult and 
doubtful business. The horse holds a position in the scale of 
being which makes him peculiarly sensitive to all surrounding 
influences, from his embryo life upwards. The fact that but 
a few generations are necessary to change almost his entire 
structure, in order to conform to a change of climate and soil, 
is sufficient evidence of the ease with which his race may be 
modified by the accidents about him or by the designs of his 
master. Suffolk pigs, short-horned cattle, terrier pups, can be 
bred to order. Not so the horse. He is a bundle of forces, 
moral and physical, either class of which may be distorted by 
influences almost beyond our control. A calm, courageous, 
docile, intelligent mare, bearing a colt sired by a stalHon equally 
well balanced with herself, may be subjected to sudden fright ; 
she may fall into bad hands, and be lashed to madness while 
pregnant ; she may have her attention fixed on some ignoble 
comj^anion ; and the character of her offspring be so different 
from her own, or that of its sire, that she is ashamed of it (or 
ought to be), and her owner despises it. Every man knows 
that there are some families of horses which are easily broken 
to harness, in fact, have a natural gift in that direction, and take 
kindly to the strap and the shaft ; and that other families are 
rebellious and violent and almost untamable. That this quality 
is inherited there can be no doubt ; and, if you doubt it, take 
the English thoroughbred, with his inheritance of strong pas- 
sions and impetuosity on the turf, and his days of idleness, 
in which his sins grow apace, and compare him in all points 
of submission, docility, and usefulness with the American horse 
of all work, the heir of every accomplishment w-hich can make 
a horse useful at the plough or the cart, or on the track or 
road. Now these qualities may easily be transmitted or they 



THE HORSE. 565 

may easily be destroyed. A rough master may upset all the 
virtues of generations, and unexpectedly find himself the owner 
of a colt inspired with all the wildness and savagery of his 
remote ancestors. It is a good deal to ask, I know ; but if 
a man means to raise up a good-tempered and civilized family 
of horses he must be good-tempered and civilized himself. 

And then the unexpected physical variations ; who can ac- 
count for them ? You can generally be pretty sure of breeding 
a pig which will weigh a given number of pounds at a given 
age. You can generally breed a Shorthorn cow with certain 
specified lines, a desired color, a wished-for aptitude to fatten, 
and any number of such inglorious qualities which make up a 
good beef-producer ; but to breed that delicate organization 
which makes a good milch cow, and that nice adjustment of 
nerves and veins and bones and muscles which makes a really 
valuable horse is not so easy. Even thoroughbreds vary to 
a degree entirely unaccountable. The size varies, the color 
varies, the form varies, the power varies in a family bred even 
from one sire and one dam. The success which has attended 
the efforts of the best breeders is so small as to be truly dis- 
couraging. The great English horse Eclipse, bred as he was to 
hundreds of the best mares of his time, got only three hundred 
and forty-four winners ; and half of these never got beyond a 
single race. Matchem, another great and victorious horse on 
the English turf, got but three hundred and fifty winners. 
And King Herod — the third king of the race-course and the 
stud — got only four hundred and ninety-seven winners, but few 
of which made any mark beyond their first effort. What will 
the most enthusiastic friend of any trotting stallion known 
within the last thirty years tell us of the trotting quality of his 
stock .-' Old Black Hawk stood for mares almost from the day 
when, a four-year-old colt, he trotted down from Dover, N. H., 
to the hour when he died in the comfortable stable of David 
Hill of Bridport, Vt., for whom he had earned a fortune ; and 
yet you could count his trotting sons and daughters on your 
fingers. So, too, of Ethan Allen, and General Knox, and the 
Drew horse, and the Eaton horse, and Old Witherell, and Lam- 



566 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

bert, and Rysdyk's Hambletonian, and Young Morrill, and a 
host of others, known and unknown ; while some unheard-of 
stallion has sent his single offspring to the track, "but that one 
a lion." 

And yet with all this variety and this uncertainty of obtaining 
what you desire, let no man doubt that he can breed a good 
horse, and do it profitably, if he will but exercise judgment and 
skill, — not a bay horse always, nor a black one, nor a chestnut 
one, but a good one. In endeavoring to do this, do not select 
pareirts who have a bad ancestry. Never hope to get from a 
sire which you do not like, and a dam which you do not like, 
offspring which you do like. Do not try to breed out an 
unsoundness ; 5^ou may not live long enough to do it. Never 
breed from an immature horse. Very young horses are always 
doubtful sires. Old horses, if good themselves, have seldom 
.any reason to be ashamed of their offspring. Never breed from 
kickers, or biters, or sullen horses, or from half-broken horses. 
If either side is slow, let it be the mare. It is by the male that 
the race is to be improved. And always expect to get more 
good females than males ; for this is the rule in breeding almost 
all animals. 

William Jones paused here, before proceeding to discuss 
the care and management of horses from their youth 
upward. The comments upon his remarks thus far had 
occupied so much time that it was deemed prudent to 
defer the reading of the rest of his essay until the next 
meeting. And so at a late hour the Club adjourned. 

As the members went out, Charles Ingalls joined Mr. 
Howe and accompanied him to his gate, not daring to ask 
after Mrs. Howe, but hoping that the sympathy with which 
his heart was overflowing might be instinctively felt by 
his friend, and assure him that he was not forgotten. The 
minister could not speak. 



THE HORSE. 567 



THIRTY-SIXTH MEETING. 

THE HORSE. 

WILLIAM JONES FINISHES READING THE ESSAY OF THE YOUNG 
MEDICAL STUDENT. — REMARKS ABOUT BOYS. — FEEDING, STA- 
BLING, DRIVING. — THE LAST MEETING OF THE CLUB. 

i HE duty of calling the Club together for what proved 
to be the last time devolved upon John Thomas alone. 
Mr. Howe, who had been his associate in this work for so 
many years, and who had never failed to be present both 
at the preliminary arrangements and at the meetings which 
followed, could not separate himself from that companion- 
ship to which he clung more and more closely as time went 
on, and the end drew nigh ; nor could he increase the 
burden he already bore with the additional trial of bidding 
farewell to an assembly around which clustered some of the 
pleasantest memories of his life, and where he had found so 
many kindly associations, which he now felt would be in- 
terrupted and perhaps broken. He was approaching a 
sharp turn in the highway of life ; he knew it ; and his 
heart sunk within him. 

But the Club met on the call of Mr. Thomas, and Mr. 
William Jones, having got himself up with more odorif- 
erous elaboration than on any former occasion, drew forth 
the remainder of the essay of his young medical friend, 
and proceeded to read an essay on 

COLTS, AND HOW TO MANAGE THEM; WITH A FEW 
REMARKS ON BOYS. 

When a colt is born into a family, especial])- if his lot is cast 
in pleasant places and he has a goodly heritage, the foremost 



568 



THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 



clanger is that he will be spoiled in early life. It really seems 
as if all the owners of horses endeavored to ascertain how in 
the most expeditious manner to ruin them. The natural ten- 
dency of a horse, young or old, is to preserve himself in a sound 
and healthy condition. The wear and tear of a life of hard 
work, and the injurious effects of a life of luxury and ease are 




Till', ilOKSE AND HIS KIDIiR, AFTER BEWICK. 

about equally destructive to him ; and the price he is obliged to 
pay for his intimacy with man, and the care and attention he 
receives at his hands, is the loss, in a large or a small degree, of 
the robust health and elastic animal spirits, and the abounding 
and joyous and painless power of motion, with which nature 
endows him. A colt is a happy thing in the beginning, — hap- 
pier than a child ; a horse is intended to be a happy tliing^ 
through life, — happier than a man. But the folly and mis- 
fortune which sadden and weaken the master bear heavily also- 
upon his dumb and patient servant. The two travel a hard 
road together, and both are obliged to pay the penalty which 
should in justice fall upon one. If this is one of the inevitable 
consequences of the decree which gives man dominion over the 
fowls of the air and the beasts of the field, I suppose men and 
animals must silently and patiently submit and obey. But it 
may not be so. If, for the gratification of ambition or pride, or 
for high service to his race, or for immortal renown, man is will- 
ing to subordinate and sacrifice all his own physical powers, 
and is determined that his body shall obey the commands of his 
imperious spirit, inspired and consumed in the great flame, so 
must it be ; but let him spare his servant who obeys him, — his 
dumb beast who has trusted in him. 



THE HORSE. 569 

It is a good thing to remember that a horse has certain natu- 
ral faculties, without which he would not be a horse, and which 
it is important to preserve. Man is so wise, as well as tyranni- 
cal, that he finds it difficult to believe that he is not to remodel 
and reconstruct everything which is provided for his use and 
comfort before it is fit for his imperial service ; and so he med- 
dles with everybody and everything. It is much easier for him 
to comprehend his own handiwork than the Lord's. His boy 
stands before him, a bright, strong, attractive lad, full of ca- 
pacity and promise ; a combination of faculties, good and bad^ 
each striving for the ascendency ; a fresh and glowing creation 
from the hand of God, intended to rejoice his father and bless 
mankind. It is only necessary for that father to know where to 
encourage him, where to suppress him, and where to let him 
alone ; to distinguish between his healthy powers, which a super- 
abundance of youth and strength may sometimes make offen- 
sive, and those unhealthy deformities which, even while quiet 
and slumbering, are disgusting and discouraging. But this is 
no easy task. Where there should be peace and miitual confi- 
dence, a contest begins ; and before it ends the boy has lost his 
self-respect, his love, his confidence in his fellow-men ; his 
virtues are discouraged, his vices rage. Or it may be that in 
rooting up the tares the wheat has been pulled up along with 
them ; or his good points may have been distorted into subser- 
viency and inefficiency, while his bad ones may have learned 
how to play the hypocrite, and rule. Where, too, there should. 
be a manly and dignified intercourse, there is too often an 
effeminate and enervating intimacy. The boy may be softened 
into abject dependence upon those who should inspire and 
encourage his most manly self-reliance. That apron-string busi- 
ness, — how many a brave fellow has it sent mewling through 
life, like a milk sop ! His father has made a good boy of him^ 
but not the boy he was intended to be. The problem has been 
solved, but not in the right way. And. in the trials which fol- 
low, he wonders where those qualities are which he felt moving 
within him in his youth ; and the father wonders why he is so 
little satisfied with the work of his own hands. No ; do not 



570 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

bother the boys. Do not meddle with them too much. Make 
them way-wise early. Do not pet them into weakness, or check 
them into madness. And, when they go forth in Hfe, let them 
have manliness enough to meet their fellow-men in a manly 
way, generosity enough to warm a generous feeling in the 
breasts of their associates, charity enough to forgive the faults 
of their race, and humanity enough to know that it is better 
and more useful to encourage the virtues than to expose the 
vices of society, and more honorable to set a good example than 
to pronounce a good precept. 

But, to the colts. 1 hey, like the boys, may be spoiled by 
meddling. Not that I would leave them to run wild, — a rough 
and shaggy and half-savage drove, — but I would not so thor- 
oughly domesticate them as to obliterate every trace of that 
headlong and impulsive temperament which makes a colt a colt. 
I have seen many a colt, especially when he was " the one ewe 
lamb," so petted that he was more like a house-dog than any- 
thing else. He had become so much the intimate companion 
of the family, that, as he grew up, he forgot to be in any way 
the servant. An appeal to his progressive faculties, which are 
the dominant faculties of a horse, was received with a sort of 
blank astonishment, instead of as a signal for more vigorous 
exertion. He had lost all that independence and courage 
which Virgil saw and admired when he spoke of his " leading 
the way," and "braving the torrent," and " daring the unknown 
arch that spans the waves." You may suppose that a good gait 
and strong powers of endurance are not to be destroyed in any 
such way as this ; but I assure you that even while they may 
possibly remain, the knowledge how to use them may be lost. 
Every experienced man knows that a horse will be one thing in 
the hands of one driver, and another thing in the hands of 
another. Hiram Woodruff could give new strength to The Roan 
the instant he took the reins ; and Ripton and Dexter wei-e 
inspired with new energy by his touch. Now, what shall we say 
to all this ? ^Vhy, that a horse knows what he is doing, and 
with whom he is dealing ; and that, having learned his lesson, 
it becomes as much a part of him as his second nature. If, 



THE HORSE. 571 

therefore, you expect to get a horse, let the colt retain in its full 
vigor the fire liiat warms his blood. You must not humanize 
him entirely. Meet him half-way. Let him understand that 
there is as much horse in you as you e.xpect there will be man 
in him. Let your intercourse with him be cahn and good- 
natured, but prompt, energetic, decided, with a sort of careless 
firmness, colored with tenderness and youthful activity. 

A colt should neither be petted to death, nor conquered and 
subdued to death. He should be familiarized with the harness 
when so young that he may imagine the straps to be a part of 
himself. He should never know what it is to be broken. He 
should find himself engaged in business, he hardly knows how ; 
and he should be gradually introduced to his work with an 
unruffled temper, and an acquiescent but unsubdued spirit. 
^Mien you conquer a young horse by violence you can never 
tell where the conquest is going to end. It may be in obe- 
dience ; it may be in madness. Colts should be broken, then, 
at two years old, gently, easily, good-naturedly, — never with a 
harsh bit, but with a well-covered snaffle. The ordinary bitting 
apparatus is unnecessary and should seldom be used. When a 
colt has well learned his lesson at two years old, he needs no 
more education until he is four or five. He will not forget what 
he has learned. And in this way you avoid all violence in 
training ; you do not interfere with the colt's spirit ; you do not 
expose him to strains and wrenches ; and you give him a chance 
to harden his muscles by free exercise in the open air, just at a 
time when his bones are becoming well knit, and his nervous 
power strong and enduring. 

As a colt may be spoiled by over-handling, so may he be 
ruined by over-feeding. Dr. Buckingham of Boston, in an ad- 
mirable address read before the Massachusetts Medical Society, 
after speaking of the reckless manner in which the lives of young 
children are trifled with by. the use of " artificial food," when 
they should be confined as nearly as possible to the nourish- 
ment which nature provides for them, says: ''There the baby 
of the lower animals has the advantage. He is fed on natural 
food only, from the beginning, because his father and mother 



5/2 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

don't know enough to kill him. Man, the reasoning being, is 
defeated by the animals who exercise instinct only. They 
never, for amusement or curiosity, experiment upon the stom- 
achs and lives of their children, with the desire of seeing how- 
much indigestion they will bear with impunity. I am not alone 
in the belief that the excessive mortality at an early period of 
infancy is, very much of it, caused by attempts to substitute for 
natural food that which will save time and trouble to the mother, 
and by attempts to force growth ! " With Dr. Buckingham's 
views of the proper food for the young of animals we must all 
agree ; but if he were as familiar with the atteiripts to force 
growth in our stables as he is in our nurseries, I am afraid he 
would hesitate before drawing an unqualified illustration from 
the former for the benefit of the latter. I agree that the father 
and mother of the colt " don't know enough to kill him " ; but 
the owner does, oftentimes, know just enough. And the same 
destruction which the physician witnesses with distress and 
shame in his practice the farmer may, with equal distress and 
shame, see in his stables, in a less fatal form, it is true, but in 
a form none the less disastrous. You cannot easily kill a colt, 
I know, by injudicious feeding ; but you can infiict injuries 
upon him that are worse than death, and give him a prolonged 
life of weakness and suffering and uselessness. A dyspeptic 
man in the counting-room or the pulpit or the court-room — 
made a dyspeptic by the injudicious food of his childhood or 
by his own mature thoughtlessness — is an object of deep com- 
passion, it is true ; but how much more compassion should we 
feel for the animal, which, without human aspiration and am- 
bition to bear him above the pains of his existence, has been 
fed into a weakened stomach, and an exaggerated carcass, and 
nerveless limbs, and tender feet, and unsound joints, and crib- 
bing, and torpor, and untimely death ! And this we see con- 
tinually among the favorite colts. Give me the boys whose 
health and strength are derived from natural food in infmcy 
and simple food in youth. Give me the colts whose dams have 
been generous, and whose owners have been judicious. If a 
colt is born late in the season, say in August or September, 



THE HORSE. 573 

which is the best time of the year for liiin, there is no trouble 
about the first winter. A box-stall and good food for the mare, 
who is to nurse her colt until the following spring approaches, 
will take the young animal over the first trying season, and will 
prepare it for weaning and the first summer's run at grass. But 
if the colt is to be weaned as usual, when he comes to the barn 
in autumn, we must then exercise skill and judgment in trans- 
forming him from his infant life to the clays of his childhood. 
A little milk from the cow once a day for a few days, and a pint 
of oats, with rowen or fine hay, a mixture of herd's-grass and 
redtop, will carry him over the trials of separation from his 
dam. But all this must cease as soon as possible ; and that 
diet of good hay and roots which is to serve him until he is put 
upon the road must be commenced. Many a colt has been 
ruined by heavy feed the first winter. It is pleasant to see his 
glossy coat and lively head and mature neck and w'ell-developed 
form under a good supply of oats, with just a little cracked corn. 
But all this pleasure will vanish if you look carefully at those 
knees which tremble a little after exercise ; and it will still more 
thoroughly vanish if you will examine him after his summer's 
run at grass, and wonder why he looks no better, and has not 
grown more. "It has been a bad season for colts," you say. 
But no. The season has been good enough for those young 
things which were wintered well in a box and a barn-yard, had 
simple food, were kept healthy and thriving, and went out in the 
spring a little ragged, it is true, and not over fat, but as hardy 
as cold air and good appetites could make them. The season 
has been good enough for these. 

I ha\-e said good hay and roots, and by roots I do not mean 
cartots, the most unsatisfactory root that horse, young or old, 
can eat, producing an unhealthy state of the skin and kidneys, 
overloading the cellular tissues with fat, and making a horse as 
washy as a lalher-brush ; but I mean Swedish turnips, ruta-bagas, 
— the king of roots for all young animals which are making 
bone and muscle, and for all old ones which are being stalled. 
I have long since abandoned carrots. Having become dissatis- 
fied with them,, both for my colts and my driving-horses, I 



574 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

looked about for a substitute ; and, learning from a report on 
" Farming in Ireland," that in the early spring, when the farm- 
ers there begin to plough, they also begin to feed Swedes to 
their horses which are to draw the plough, I took the hint. 
I do not ask others to follow my example ; but I am under 
everlasting obligations to the Irishman for his, and to the 
observer who recorded it. I have seen many colts that have 
never eaten a mouthful of grain until four years old, and many 
a horse which has wintered always on hay and turnips, and win- 
tered well. I know nothing which will restore a colt in early 
winter, if he comes to the barn out of condition, and begins to 
droop and stark as soon as he is confined to the stable, sa 
readily and effectually as Swedes. You can drive your old 
horses in winter, when fed on them, an occasional drive, as well 
as when fed on corn. You can preserve their legs in good con- 
dition, and their health in a sound state, year after year, on this 
food, and you may be sure that while you can bring a colt to 
a working age with hay and turnips better than with anything 
else, you can also secure to yourself a good, hard, lively winter 
horse, and to the horse himself a longer and a more useful and 
comfortable life. Turnips are economically raised ; they make 
bone and muscle ; they keep the digestive organs in good con- 
dition ; they impart vigor to the nervous system. If you are 
told that your colt or horse will not eat them, let me tell you 
that an animal that will learn anything will soon learn to like 
them. Hay and turnips and good pasturage for colts ; hay and 
turnips for the winter food of resting horses. And if you da 
not believe that heavy food during the first winter will injure a 
colt, ay, during the first three winters of his life, go and buy one 
that has been thr.s fed, and in this way pay for your knowledge 
as many another man has paid for his. Breed a good colt, and 
have him fade out of your hands about the fourth winter if not 
the first summer, on account of your stuffing process. Go and 
ask Ethan Allen, and hundreds of his descendants, who went 
through the enervating process ; go and ask the fat and favorite 
colts who are passing their hotbed lives in the good-looking 
stables which arc multiplying everywhere ; go and ask the 



THE HORSE. ' , 5/5 

thousands of English thoroughbrctls, who are hobbUng about, 
ruined by forced growth and forced efforts and hot food, ere 
their Hves had fairl}' begun ; and see what answer you will get. 
They will all tell you that all the muscle a horse makes after he 
is four years old is worth vastly more than what he makes be- 
fore that time ; that all the fat a colt loads upon himself before 
he is four years old, and perhaps five, is an injury to him ; that 
the life is shortened, and the powers are weakened, by early 
feed and early work ; that the breeder of a good horse must be 
patient ; that if you will feed for early maturity, and drive for 
early speed, you must expect to lose a large part of the ultimate 
value of the horse, — a few years of life, a few seconds of speed 
on the track. Precocity is a poor thing ; that alone endures 
which ripens slowl)^ The wisdom of human maturity is the 
best wisdom, — that maturity which comes from the steady and 
legitimate development of all human powers. The speed and 
endurance are the greatest which are not called for until the 
horse is in full possession of all his faculties. An American 
man, dependent on himself for all that he is and is to be, fit 
for all the duties which may devolve upon him, will not grow up 
in a day. An American horse of all work, destined to toil like 
a locomotive, and expected to travel like one, wants time to 
develop himself for his tremendous service. It takes a great 
while to make a man, a trotting-horse, and an Ayrshire cow. 
Spruce wood, Shorthorn beef, Western corn-fed horse-flesh, all 
grow apace ; but they do not stand high in the scale, and they 
do not endure well unto the end. 

STABLES, AND HOW TO CONSTRUCT THEM. 

But the folly of bad breeding is no greater than the folly of 
bad stabling. The practice of providing warm and tightly built 
stables for young colts is as injurious to them as forcing their 
growth by heavy feed. A colt requires fresh air, and if he is 
furnished with an opportunity, he will be sure to use it. His 
lungs are ihe largest part of his internal organs, and he will pro- 
vide for them if there is any way to do it. Give him the best 



576 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

and wannest box in the world, and he will leave it for the in- 
vigorating influences of the northern blasts in winter, and for the 
cooling and indurating effects of a coating of snow and hail. 
He seems to understand by instinct that if he confines himself 
to the elaborate, well-finished, model stable, his energies will wilt 
and fade. He seems to feel that a glossy, shining coat is to him 
a sort of white wall of a whited sepulchre, — pleasing without, 
but within full of all equine disabilities ; and so he only asks 
for room to stretch his growing limbs, and a roof sufficient to 
shield him from the storm, undisturbed if he should see a star 
through the crevice above him, and feel the fresh breeze whist- 
ling through a crack by his side. He wants a well-ventilated 
stable, and a chance to get out of it whenever he has a desire 
to do so. And above all things let him stand on the ground, 
if possible, while in his box \ and, at any rate, in a yard into 
which his box opens. A floor, especially a wooden floor, is 
bad enough for a mature working-horse ; but to a colt it is 
almost destruction if he is compelled to stand continually upon 
it. There is no doubt that we ruin thousands of horses' feet 
in this country by our plank floors. The wood when dry is a 
non-conductor of heat, and tends to keep the horse's foot above 
its natural temperature, and to remove from it all its natural 
moisture ; and when wet it has a tending to rise above the 
surrounding temperature by fermentation. Wet or dry, there- 
fore, wood, whether in the form of a plank floor or of sawdust 
bedding, is very injurious to the horse's foot. And so true is 
this, that we should always provide brick floors for all that 
portion of the stall which is occupied by the horse's fore-feet, — 
a practice which, with the aid of an ointment composed of 
honey one part, tar one part, and lard five parts, simmered 
together, applied every other night around the coronet, and in 
the heel and frog, has protected all who follow it from sore- 
toed horses, and will produce a foot which every farrier will 
admire as soon as he puts his buttrice into it. For the feet, 
then, of the colt and bridle-horse, furnish the earth as a stand- 
ing-place ; for the feet of the working-horse furnish a brick or 
stone floor. By such a floor alone can you secure to your colt 



THE HORSE. S77 

a really good foot ; and in this way alone, moreover, can you 
be sure of giving him a good leg, a well-shaped ankle, and a 
firm and substantial knee. I know not how it is ; but the 
misshapen ankles and knees which come out of hot stables 
and wooden floors, among the colts which have wintered there, 
constitute the peculiar phenomena of the business of rearing 
these animals. But so it is ; and I urge upon you all, whether 
you like horses or not, whether you fear them or trust them, to 
give them the solid ground to stand on, whenever it is practi- 
cable, in their youth, and anything but wood in their days of 
maturity and toil. 

So important do I think this matter of floors, that I pass by 
'all the feeding arrangements of the stall, whether for hay or 
grain, as of secondary consideration. I think it a poor plan, 
however, to compel a colt to put his head through a hole in 
order to get at his food, or to thrust it under a low beam, or to 
drag his hay through a narrow rack. A feed-box so constructed 
as not to furnish an opportunity for cribbing and biting, ele- 
vated not much above the stall floor, and easily cleaned, is 
the best contrivance I have seen. 

I take it for granted that no man will compel his colt to 
stand on a manure-heap, unless he wishes to injure his feet, 
and that the stall will be kept as clean as time and circum- 
stances will allow. 

But you will say to me, — those of you who are especially 
anxious to place the horse in as unfavorable a light as possible 
and to cool the enthusiasm of his friends, — that in spite of all 
your care and attention the animal will be sick and unsound. 
I know it. But let me tell you that he need not be sick half as 
much as he is, nor unsound half as often, if proper measures 
are taken to preserve his health and to prevent and cure his 
unsoundness. 

DISEASES: HOW PREVENTED AND CURED. 

With regard to the health, it is easier to preserve it than it 
is to restore it. The natural condition of the horse is one of 
37 



5/8 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

robust health, of good digestion, of strong respiratory organs, 
of calm and even circulation. He has no especial tendency to 
those diseases which torment the human race and lurk in our 
swamps, and cellars, and water-springs, and crowded habita- 
tions, and thronged cities. A few epidemics peculiar to himself, 
and one or two inflammatory disorders, constitute the great 
bulk of his ailments. And yet the loss of horses by disease is 
enormous. What the precise character of the disease is, its 
symptoms, its local com.plications, its premonitions, the exact 
time and extent of convalescence, it is difficult to ascertain ; for 
the horse has no story to tell. He is dumb under suffering, 
and can point out to no man the locality of his distress. How 
keen his agony is no one can understand, for he bears with 
apparent insensibility crushing accidents which would paralyze 
his master, or leave him writhing in unspeakable agony. The 
effect also of remedial agents upon the horse is a matter ex- 
tremely difficult to investigate. We apply them ; relief comes ; 
and we are too glad to trace it to our own efforts. But the 
veil is still drawn, and the mystery is as impenetrable as ever. 
I do not for a moment mean to doubt that soap and aloes, 
single or combined, that opium and saltpetre and rosin and 
ginger and yellow-bark and carbonate of ammonia and sal- 
prunella and oil of juniper and camphor and mustard and oil 
of turpentine and calomel and digitalis and belladonna and 
Colombo and cassia and rhubarb, will cure anasarca and fevers 
of various kinds, and perhaps check glanders and farcy, because 
I am told so every day by those whose business it is to ad- 
minister all those powerful medicinal agents. But I do know 
that in the human subject, such a pharmacopoeia has lost its 
ancient charm ; and an intelligent assistance of nature is now 
considered as important as the heroic treatment adopted by 
our ancestors. And I think I know one thing more, and that 
is, that oftentimes the difficulties created by medicine itself 
are as hard to overcome as the disease it is proposed to re- 
move by their use. Some physicians declare that medicines 
usually substitute one disease for another ; and, as Nature can- 
not well do two things at the same time, we may turn her 



THE HORSE. 579 

attention from what is unmanageable to what is easily con- 
trolled. I think there is something in this; for I can readily 
understand that the condition of the body produced by mercury 
and iodide of potassium and opium and digitalis and quinine 
is as much a disease as rheumatism or colic or palpitation of 
the heart or fever and ague. This a man can undoubtedly 
bear, if he can only move about his business or his pleasure. 
But a horse cannot. He must be "pretty well," or his machine 
will not work. He is, moreover, very easily affected by medi- 
cine. His system feels it more readily than does that of a man. 
I gave a horse some small doses of antimony many years ago, 
for a glossy coat, and he was nearly a year recovering from the 
evidently prostrating influence of the drug. So I am of the 
opinion that we should avoid dosing our horses as much as 
possible. I should recommend early attention to the first 
appearance of illness, with care, warmth, shelter, starvation, 
and cold water. No sooner does a horse show signs of sick- 
ness than his work should be stopped, his food reduced, he 
should have repose, and if feverish he should be wrapped in a 
•wet sheet covered well with blankets. Do not try to work a 
sick horse ; believe in season that he is really sick. Do not 
try to persuade yourself that he will get along ; but nurse him 
promptly and well in a well-ventilated stable. 

For the health of the horse improve the stables ; and give 
the young horses new and better food, more sweet hay and less 
sour grain. In all the stables, public and private, give them 
better air, broader stalls, cleaner feed-boxes, better floors, and 
fewer stenches. Do not insult a respectable animal who has 
come down from the country to do his share of the work of 
the world, and has brought with him the memory of the 
sweet hills and clear skies, by immuring him in one of those 
cramped, rickety, rotten, stinking, slovenly, damp dungeons, 
where a dumb beast would lose his breath and his courage, 
beneath an oppressive weight of miasmas and hideous, gloomy, 
nasty confusion. Stop this, or pray that the horses may die ere 
the evil days come. 

Unsoundness. — But I shall be reminded, I am aware, of that 



58o THE FARM^VARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

unfortunate tendency of almost every horse, however well he 
may be cared for, to become more or less unsound. I know this 
is so. The horse has, partly by an inheritance of defects which 
are very apt to attend a delicate organization, and partly from 
the abuse to which he is subjected from his youth upwards, a 
liability to break down in many points where it would seem as if 
nature should have guarded and strengthened him with peculiar 
care. That he becomes spavined, and ring-boned, and curbed,, 
and splinted, and broken-winded, and sore-toed, I will not deny. 
But all these evils seem to me to grow out of man's determina- 
tion to spoil his horse ; for when we remember that the horse's 
foot is the strongest structure of the kind in all the animal king- 
dom, and that his back is the most ingeniously packed and con- 
trived, and his fore-leg the best constructed to receive a blow, 
and his pasterns the finest combination of elasticity and strength, 
and his lungs the largest and most capacious, we can under- 
stand what long generations of hardship and misuse he must 
have passed through to bring upon each one of these important 
and naturally powerful organs a peculiar disposition to -break 
down. If you were to examine a horse for the first time, you 
would say, " That foot cannot fail, no matter how hard the 
road ; that pastern will not give out ; that back-joint will not 
yield to the hardest strains even ; those lungs will endure 
through all long and severe driving on the road or track ! " And 
the fact that they do fail, and have so long failed, that they 
are liable to congenital malformation, is merely a proof that 
no machine can be subjected to such strain as falls upon the 
horse, without breaking ; no animal organization could possi- 
bly endure it without serious, almost incalculable injury. It 
is useless, therefore, to close our eyes to this natural and arti- 
ficial defect in the horse ; and, bearing in mind that he has 
been brought to this condition by his hard service for man, it 
seems to me that, instead of condemning him for his weakness, 
we ought to help him out of his trouble. 

I would not set aside a horse for unsoundness until I was 
satisfied that he was beyond remedy, and had become useless. 
Promptly and energetically would I attack the disease, nor 



THE HORSE. 58 1 

would I allow my hopes to deceive mc or to lead me away from 
quick and decided action. It is neither wise nor liumane to 
shut your eyes to the first approach of the local difficulty, or to 
delay attending to it when discovered, in the hope that somehow 
the horse will find his way out. I hardly know any calamit}', 
large or small, in which delay is so tempting and hope so strong, 
as the misfortunes which befall our favorite horses, and that 
special colt so full of promise. 

Lameness, and how to prevent it. — If your horse is lame, 
realize the fact as quickly as possible, and attend to it. Locate 
the lameness where it manifestly is, or where it is most likely to 
be, even if there is a hopelessness about it ; and allow no friend 
or surgeon to flatter you with the suggestion that the trouble is 
temporary, trivial, confined to some comparatively unimportant 
point, and in your horse at least is not what it would be in every 
•other horse about you. If the lameness is " forward," you may, 
in nine cases out of ten, infer that the trouble is in the foot, 
unless you can find some manifest enlargement of the bones or 
sinews. Shoulders are seldom lame. It is the foot which is 
most exposed ; it is the foot which is most affected by the 
action of the shoulder and leg above it, so that many wise 
observers have insisted upon it that any foot will stand if only 
rightly managed by the muscles which move it ; and it is the 
foot whose diseases are most difficult to cure. There is no 
lameness so perplexing, annoying, and discouraging. It puts 
an end very effectually to a horse's fast work, and enrolls his 
name amongst the slow movers on the farm or in the family 
carriage. Rest, cold water, the tar-ointment which I have al- 
ready described, a cool brick floor, with perhaps a blister or 
two, will almost always relieve the early stages of the disease, 
and give the horse comfort and ability to discharge well the 
services of a quiet life. But laminitis and navicular disease do 
not surrender so easily, and are as troublesome as the gout 
when they find their way into the luxurious horse-circles, — • 
those circles in which they are most usually found. 

So, too, of ring-bone and spavin. More conspicuous than 
diseases of the foot, they are more easily managed. I would 



582 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

never resign a promising young horse on account of the appear- 
ance of these diseases, and I would never neglect one until they 
were past relief. I have seen many a young horse tired and 
blistered as soon as the spavin showed itself, given a year's run 
at grass and in a winter yard, and come out fit for a long life of 
work, slow or fast. I am aware that the loss of six months or 
a year in the working-time of a horse is a serious matter for 
most men who use horses. But even to such as work them 
simply for what they can earn, this remedy is cheaper than the 
ultimate loss of the animal altogether ; and to those who are 
breeding and preparing them for the market, it must be econ- 
omy to tike hold of these defects in season, and treat them 
promptly and summarily. Hardly a local disease can be named 
which will not yield to this summary process and rest. If there 
is a check to be put to cribbing, for instance, that most myste- 
rious and unaccountable of all diseases of horses, a diseased 
habit which is often acquired, and which I have seen inherited, 
it is by instantly removing every object which can be seized 
with the teeth, and by regulating the food. So, too, of swelled 
legs, scratches, corns, false-quarter, thrush, and other difficulties 
which arise from neglecting either the general condition of the 
horse, or from injudicious use. Into the intricacy of veteri- 
nary practice I do not propose to enter ; nor do I intend to 
give an elaborate description of diseases for the gratification of 
curiosity, or the teaching of science. I can only suggest the 
fundamental principles of dealing with the ills to which the 
horse is heir, — principles which, if adopted, will insure econ- 
omy to the master and comfort to the animal, and the neglect 
of which may lead to an endless train of expensive surgical 
experiments and complicated and incurable disorders. 

The paper of the young medical student was finished, 
and William Jones opened a general discussion on the 
modes of managing, driving, and selling horses, relating 
many interesting anecdotes of their sagacity and intelli- 
gence, and alluding gently to the variety of ways in which 
they can be disposed of, and the pleasing mystery which 



THE HORSE. 5^3 

hangs around every new member of this inscrutable family. 
Every gentleman present had his favorite, and could tell 
also of his accomplishments and value. 

I suppose the debate was prolonged to an unusually late 
hour on account of the interest felt in the subject ; but 
more, I am sure, from a painful consciousness that in all 
probability the Club would not assemble again. No man 
there acknowledged this, and no man entered upon a 
formal farewell. But they all lingered, and they somehow 
remembered those who had been with them, and now were 
not. Mr. Hopkins relieved his mind by rejoicing in the 
opening summer ; Dr. Parker still told of his " Sorrel 
Jim"; Squire Wright contemplated Charles Ingalls with 
a sort of longing interest ; John Thomas took the record- 
book under his arm and departed. They all followed, and 
as they went, their thoughts turned tenderly to the min- 
ister, and the clouds which hung over his home. 



584 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 



SINCE THE ADJOURNMENT. • 
TREE PLANTING.^ MR. HOPKINS'S WILL. 

JOHN THOMAS AND HULDAH TELL THEIR STORY OF MR. HOWE 
AND THEMSELVES. — WILLIAM JONES STILL DRIVES. — DR. PARKER 
MORALIZES —I TAKE MV RECORD AND DEP.4RT. 

It is many years since the Farm-Yard Club of Jotham 
adjourned and closed its record. A careful examination 
of the books and papers kept by the Rev. Mr. Howe, the 
Secretary, from which I have selected the discussions here 
presented, in a form somewhat modified in order to con- 
fo;-m to the views and experience of our own day, has 
revealed nothing to me since the essay of the young 
medical student upon " The Horse," read by the sweet- 
scented William Jones, on that soft mild evening of open- 
ing summer. I have every reason to believe that oc- 
casional meetings of members of the Club and others 
were held during the following winter, sometimes at the 
private dwellings of those who were hospitably inclined, 
now and then in the parlor of Mr. Hopkins, and on two 
or three evenings in the school-house or the vestry. In 
fact, I learn from tradition that the custom established 
by the Club remained for a long time, and that even at 
this day informal assemblies for deliberation and debate 
are quite common in the town ; and that the effects 
of this long-continued public instruction are manifest to 
every lecturer who has the good fortune to address a 
Jotham audience. It is, indeed, true that the impression 
produced upon the "common and general mind" of the 
town by the institution founded and conducted by Mr. 



TREE PLANTING. — MR. HOPKJN.S'S WILL. 585 

Hopkins and his contemporaries is visible still ; and that 
many bright young men, the fruit of this impression, have 
carried the names with which we are now familiar into 
almost every corner of the globe, for useful and influential 
purposes. But meanwhile the members have nearly all 
passed away, and the appearance of the village has con- 
siderably changed. A long time had elapsed since I had 
visited it, when, coming into possession of Mr. Howe's 
papers, I found it necessary to take a survey of the once 
familiar old spot, in order to do justice to the work which 
Mr. Howe imposed upon me when he intrusted these 
papers to my care and keeping, to be dealt with according 
to my best judgment. I found there indeed 

" The pleasant fields traversed so oft, 
In life's morning march, when my bosom was young." 

I found the lake nestling as peacefully among the hills 
as it did when my childhood's eye rested upon it, and I 
found the wooded shores unaltered. The avenue of maples 
still invited the loiterer and the traveller, with its shade 
deepened and made more venerable by time. The farm- 
houses, with their sentinel elms grown grander and more 
majestic, reposed still upon the hillsides and along the 
valleys. Nature was the same ; but I could see that 
during all these long years man had not been idle. The 
old meeting-house had been remodelled and modernized. 
The square pews were gone. The sounding-board had 
vanished. An organ filled the place once occupied by 
the primitive orchestra. The deacon-seats had been re- 
moved, and the deacons were reduced to the level of the 
congregation. And the pulpit had been brought down 
to the modest condition of an ordinary lecture platform. 
The old bare and bleak graveyard had become a cemetery, 
beautified and adorned with well-grown trees and shrubs. 
The grocery, standing where it stood years ago, had an 



5 86 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

unusually thriving appearance with its newly painted walls. 
To the front of Mr. Hopkins's old mansion, for after all 
his plans he had never built a new one, now converted 
into a summer boarding-house, had been added an ample 
piazza. A stylish residence occupied the spot where 
Peter Ilsley's house once stood. The roadsides and the 
Common were adorned with shade trees of every variety. 
And a rather commonplace New England village, witti 
which I was familiar in rny childhood, had been converted 
into a delightful spot, whose square and thoroughfares 
were as pleasing to the eye as had formerly been the 
swelling hills, the luxuriant valleys, and the green lanes, 
rejoicing in all their natural beauty. 

My first impulse was to stroll among the scenes which 
had been impressed upon my eye so slightly in my earliest 
childhood, that, even though recognized now, they had all 
the charm of a revelation, which has been made more 
charming still by the haze and halo of a well-remembered 
dream. I had seen a great deal of the world since I had 
walked along the little roadside path through the maples ; 
and when I entered upon it, on this delightful summer 
afternoon, the sunlight streaming through the branches, 
and the heavy shadows stretching across the street, filled 
my mind with a strange mingling of the pictures of early 
infancy in the freshness of the country, and ardent youth 
wandering beneath the solemn arches of the sacred cathe- 
dral. The first breath was of nature, and brought me back 
to my home ; the second breath was of art, and carried me 
along the great halls in which man has deposited the work 
of his divine genius. I was surprised and delighted to find 
how much of the surrounding scene was familiar to me. 
The turns in the path, the projecting stones in the walls, 
the feeble flower by the wayside, the foot-worn root which 
was but half hidden in the earth, the rounded top of the 
hill on the right hand, the little grove of twinkling birches 



TREE PLANTING. — MR. HOPKINS'S WILL. 587 

which crowned the hill on the left, the open fields and the 
decaying orchards, seemed not to have changed, but bore 
still the features of old friends, to remind me of those who, 
older and dearer, had now passed away. I met but few 
persons ; and those whom I did meet. I did not know. 
And yet I saw in more than one youthful passer-by a 
glance which I had certainly seen somewhere, perhaps in 
a former generation. A turn in the road brought me into 
the view of a homestead which was filled with a thousand 
sweet associations, — a strong and kind father, a gentle, 
quiet mother, little children my former playmates, — the 
fresh and healthy and cheerful home of John Thomas and 
Huldah his wife, and of their children John and Susan. 
John and Huldah were old to me when I first knew them ; 
they were old to me now. And when I entered the house 
through the front door, which stood open, as it had always 
done on the long, warm summer days, and found the old 
people there, they were the same to me, and I was the 
same to them, that we were when we parted more years 
ago than I dare tell. 

"Why, my little dear," exclaimed Huldah, when she 
realized who I was, " how you have grown ! Your poor, 
dear fat*her ! and so he's dead; and your mother, dead too! 
and here are John and I spared or forgotten, mercy knows 
which. I '11 call John. I guess he 's taking a little nap 
somewheres. He and I had our golden wedding last night, 
and the young folks kept us up pretty late, and John can't 
stand quite what he could once. I do so wish you had 
been here ; your sir and your marm were both at our 
wedding fifty years ago. But sit down ; do, now, my little 
dear ; you must be awfiil hot and tired." 

John was soon aroused, and he came in to refresh his 
memory, and to get myself and my father and my grand- 
father gloriously mixed in his allusions to my family. He 
was the same sensible and practical farmer that he was 



588 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

years ago ; and having added to his agricultural experience 
that of a faithful public servant in town and county and 
State, he had a great deal to say for himself that was in- 
teresting and instructive. After a good deal of circumlo- 
cution, I brought him to the affairs of the Club, in which 
he had formerly been so much engaged, and informed him 
of the work I had undertaken. The record he had seen, 
as kept by Mr. Howe, and he considered it substantially 
correct. Of the members, both he and Huldah had much 
to say. 

"O, poor dear Mr. Howe," said Huldah; "he waited and 
waited after Mrs. Howe died, cheerful enough and good as 
man could be, but kind o' lost for twenty-five years. And 
then he died ; and glad enough he was to go. I have 
heard about a great many last words, but I do think that Mr. 
Howe's were the best of all. T want to be with God,' said 
he, when one of his daughters asked him in his last mo- 
ments if he wanted anything ; and then full of this great 
faith he went to heaven. He was a good man ; and he 
loved Mrs. Howe ; and he had a hard time ; and he set us 
all a good example ; and he was so sensible ; but he was 
terribly broken down by Mrs. Howe's death, and never was 
really himself until he knew he was going to die, and then 
he was just the same Mr. Howe who was settled here a 
young man, and good as a saint, just before John and I 
were married." 

" I suppose Mr. Hopkins died long ago } " said I. 

"O yes," replied John. "He died long before Mr. Howe. 
In fact, he left a great deal of the work he wanted done 
after he was gone in Mr. Howe's hands. Mr. Hopkins 
thought a great deal of Jotham, you know ; and he did a 
great deal for us in his will. His two boys were a little 
wild, and a little unlucky, so he provided well for them, all 
in trust, and then he looked after his native town. He 
left a fund for a library, and made the minister and the 



TREE PLANT/XG.-MA\ //O/'A'EVS'S WILL. 589 

selectmen trustees; and provided money enough for a good 
fire-proof building, whenever the trustees might think such 
a building necessary ; for he said he thought the library 
ought to grow to the size of the building before it was 
erected. And he was very particular about the books ; 
they were to be what he called standard; the best volumes 
of history and biography, especially of our own country ; 
accepted literature ; novels, only when the world had 
passed judgment upon them, and classed them with the 
best products of the human mind. He rather liked novel- 
reading ; but he detested a mere extravagant and over- 
wrought story, with more incident than philosophy. So I 
heard him say. He left a fund to keep the village side- 
walks, and the grounds around the church, and the Com- 
mon paths and fence in order; for he said the law provided 
for the highways only in a town, and he knew the people 
would keep them in good condition if the ornamental part 
was well taken care of. And then he left a fund for the 
planting of trees, and the foundation of a " Village Im- 
provement Association " in this town. On this last matter 
he was very earnest and enthusiastic. In that portion of 
his will making provision for this association, he alludes to 
a work of the same kind just starting in Connecticut, and 
he inserts the following passage, which, it is supposed, 
Charles Ingalls wrote for him, when he practised law here 
with Squire Wright. I happen to have a copy here in my 
desk : — 

" ' For, whatever may be man's outward circumstances, how- 
ever hardening and depressing may be the incidents of his life, 
he has an instinctive love of beauty which insists on being grati- 
fied. He knows that this is his distinguishing characteristic, 
which separates him from the beasts that perish, an element 
of his mind and heart which leads him from nature up to 
nature's God. To him the sunrise means glory as well as 
daylight ; the lone and lofty mountains elevate him to the con- 



590 THE FARM- YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

templation of Almighty power, even while they are a shelter for 
the wild goats ; the dewy pastures, where the cattle graze and 
recline in the long shadows, lull him to the sweets of evening 
repose ; the sparkling stream, where " the wild asses quench 
their thirst," soothe and sing him to happiness and rest ; the 
majestic and commanding tree, whose wide-spread branches 
shelter the panting animals from the blaze of the noontide sun, 
is a picture of power and strength and varying. loveliness which 
is to him a source of never-ending cielight. When his eye sur- 
veys the swelling landscape, the emotions which belong to him, 
as a child of the Creator of all, inspire and elevate him above 
the earth on which he treads, and distinguish him from that 
other order of animal existence to which all scenery is alike ; 
whose sensibilities no ugliness of nature or of art offends, which 
no starry heavens delight, and no homely surrounding disturbs ; 
whose vision is blind, both to the graces and the deformities of 
even its own kind ; which nibbles the daisy and the June grass 
with equal satisfaction ; and whose eye is not moistened with 
the tears of joy or sorrow. It is man alone who knows that 

"A thing of beauty is a joy forever," 

and who, because he is a man, endeavors to beautify and culti- 
vate himself and his abode on earth. His religion and love 
and all his affections and aspirations seek expression in some 
form of beauty ; and so the poet, and the architect, and the 
artist, and the gardener, in song and picture, and temple and 
landscape, provide for him the divine language. It is as an 
animal, that he is contented with a cave ; as a man, that he 
organizes the refinement of a home. And although, as Plato 
tells us, " the groves were the first temples of the gods," still 
man erects his chapel, and loves it and adorns it, and lingers 
around it as the home of his spiritual life, the sacred spot where 
he can hold communion with his God. Here in the presence 
of the Father he reaches his highest sense of the beautiful, and 
inspired with piety and love he elevates both altar and priest 
into his highest region of the sublime. This is man's sense of 
beauty, his divine characteristic, his angel which attends him in 



TREE PLANTING. — MR. noi'KINS\S WILL. 59 1 

his most sacred hours, his inspired power which elevates him 
into a higher order of beings, and gives his own works a signifi- 
cance which Divinity alone could bestow. And it is this sense 
of beauty which, seeking expression in music, and poetry, and 
art, and adornment, makes society cheerful and fills our homes 
with delight.' " 

" He had begun, some years before his death, a planta- 
tion of trees about his house, and he always insisted that 
such a plantation should suit the building it is to surround 
and the landscape it is to occupy. He kept open spaces 
among his trees for their benefit, and to gratify his eye ; 
was opposed to planting trees in straight lines unless it 
was necessary ; seemed to feel towards his trees as he did 
towards his old friends, and declared that the towns of 
New England should be made so attractive by ornamental 
trees that the young men would be slow to leave them, 
and having left would be quick to return. He was fond of 
rehearsing the history of representative trees, the Charter 
Oak, the Washington Elm at Cambridge, the Frye Elm 
at North Andover, hung with the story of Lovewell's fight, 
the oak at White Lady's, the sturdy old tree from which 
the stern-post of the frigate Constitution was cut. And 
in leaving a fund to endow an association for the purpose 
of beautifying his native town, he felt that he was not 
only erecting a monument to his own memory, but was 
paying a tribute to the memory of the fathers, who gave 
him the home he loved so well. And now see how Jotham 
has improved under the advice and assistance of this one 
good man." 

" You referred just now to Charles Ingalls, who studied 
law with Squire Wright," said I. " Is he still in town .?" 

" O no," replied John Thomas ; " the young Squire, as 
we called him, married Clara Bell, the miller's daughter, 
so many years ago that I have forgotten when it was : 
I should say a year or two after Dr. Parker married the 



592 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

old Squires daughter Fanny ; and then he left town for 
some great Western city. We were all distressed to have 
him leave. Mr. Howe was terribly cast down about it. 
Mr. Hopkins absolutely mourned outright. Squire Wright 
shut up his office for nearly a month after he left. I 
never did miss anybody in my life as I did this young 
lawyer. His leaving was bad enough for us men ; but I 
believe the women mourned over the loss of Clara as 
much as v/e did over the loss of Charles. We used to talk 
them over when any of us got together, and I remember 
how the old men of that time always wound up with say- 
ing, ' He '11 be a great man yet.' And I have been told, 
for I have n't read the newspapers much lately, and I 
should think you must have been out of the country not 
to have heard of it, that he has done well. I heard a 
gentleman say the other day to our minister, that if there 
was a man in this country who had been true to the best 
interests of the people, had accepted the best and most 
humane theories of the times, had frowned upon the 
wrong and upheld the right, had been an honest and 
capable lawyer, and at the same time a progressive jurist, 
a wise politician, and a powerful statesman, that man was 
Charles Ingalls, who taught school, and commenced the 
practice of his profession, in this town. I suppose from 
what the man said, Charles must have been in Congress, 
and a great judge somewhere. We have had hard times 
in the country since he went West ; but I am sure he has 
done his duty wherever he has been. He was equal to 
any question we ever had here. I am sure he must have 
been equal to whatever he has had before him, wherever 
he is. I am told he is well off. Of Clara I heard the 
gentleman say, ' As for Mrs. Ingalls, she is simply splen- 
did.'" 

I was obliged to acknowledge that I had been out of 
the country a great while longer than I ought to have 



TREE PLANTING. — MR. HOPKINS'S WILL. 593 

been, considering the necessities of the times, and that my 
knowledge of the controUing men was very poor; and I 
reaHzed the truth of what Hawthorne says in the " Marble 
Faun," of Kenyon and Hilda, when they entered hand in 
hand on the journey of life: "And now that life had so 
much human promise in it, they resolved to go back to 
their own land ; because the years, after all, have a kind 
of emptiness, when we spend too many of them on a 
foreign shore." I felt ashamed of myself that I knew 
more about Thiers and Castelar than I did about the 
American jurist and statesman, Charles Ingalls. I re- 
membered, however, that I had seen men who were proud 
of such ignorance, — and Americans, too. 

John Thomas was anxious by this time that I should 
take a look at his farm. " For more than seventy-five 
years, man and boy," he said, " have I lived on this spot ; 
for more than fifty years have I carried on this farm ; and 
it is just as good now as it ever was. I am not ashamed 
to show my barns and orchards and cattle and crops to 
any man, no more than my father was before me. And 
John, I 've settled him on a good piece of land over yonder 
against the hill, and he is a first-rate farmer. And 
Susan, she married Mr. Howe's oldest son ; and I 've 
settled them on a nice little farm down by the pond, and 
they get a good living. So I have nothing to complain of. 
I am so glad the children took to the land, and did n't 
wander away from home." 

I learned from John Thomas that Squire Wright and 
his estimable wife had departed, having never fully re- 
covered from the effects of the Western miasmas to which 
they were exposed on that unfortunate journey, and leav- 
ing the estate and the professional business to Charles, 
their indifferent son, who was lounging along the path 
which the old Squire had travelled with so much vigor, 
and satisfying himself with a frequent recital of the rela- 
38 



594 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

tions which existed between his father and the distin- 
guished men of his time. Fanny, too, I was distressed to 
hear, had followed her parents, and had left Dr. Parker to 
toil on alone for a short period, until Margaret and " The 
Boy," having reached years of discretion, had bound them- 
selves by the great bond which unites all loving hearts, 
and had taken the domestic economy of the Doctor into 
their own hands. I say I was distressed to hear of Fanny's 
death, because I remembered how, as a little child, I was 
dazzled with her beauty, and charmed into a dreamy 
ecstasy by her rich and glowing voice. I was indeed dis- 
tressed, and began to feel that nothing was left of Jotham 
for me but its new generation, its trees and its necrology, 
when William Jones entered, a cheery, well-preserved, and 
well-got-up old man, and finding out who I was, invited 
me to drive behind a good horse. " Your father liked a 
good horse," said he, " and knew a good one as soon as he 
put his eye on him." 

The road we travelled led along the shore of the lake, 
and never, in all my wanderings, have my eyes fallen upon 
a more fascinating scene. On either hand dark hemlock 
groves, and sloping pastures studded with towering oaks, 
looking out upon the sparkling waters of the lake ; and 
before me, in the distance, the blue mountains which 
bounded the far-off horizon, beneath the declining sun. 
William Jones was in a peculiarly talkative mood as we 
drove on, and supplied me with a great mass of the per- 
sonal incidents of Jotham, which had been omitted by the 
less gossiping John Thomas, in the stronger sketch which 
he had given me. As we proceeded, the road seemed to 
dawn upon me, and erelong a very vivid picture of my 
childhood and its associations rose before me, evidently 
excited by scenes along the way which must have been 
well known to my eyes in a former day. I seemed to 
remember with great vividness a drive just like this, in 



TREE PLANTING.— MR. HOPKINS'S WILL. 595 

which I was accompanied by my father and mother, whose 
long-vanished faces had never been so distinct before me 
as at this hour. I passed the very place by the roadside 
where my father alighted to gather a flower for my 
mother, then as delicate as the flower itself; and I rec- 
ognized the spot, and saw her as I had not seen her for 
many a long year. Turning away from the shore, the 
road brought us to the fine old mansion once occupied by 
Squire Wright, and now in the possession of Charles, his 
son and heir, who stood, as we approached, beneath the 
shade of the towering trees which embowered the house, 
and leaning over the gate, saluted William Jones, as an 
idle man will always salute a passer-by who is known to 
be engaged in the business of selling and exchanging 
horses. As William Jones drew up, and the drowsy con- 
versation commenced between these two gentlemen, I 
turned my eye in the direction of the lane leading to the 
lake, and was seized with a desire to enjoy its quiet foot- 
path, as I was sure I had enjoyed it once before ; and to 
enjoy it now, unmolested and alone. Bidding Mr. Jones 
good evening, and touching my hat to the stranger at 
the gate, I entered the lane and wandered on, — that 
picturesque and dreamy path which Dr. Parker and Fanny 
traversed on that eventful and silent and fervid summer 
evening a quarter of a century ago, when love was revealed 
to them, and the way of life was opened. I knew the 
lane, its overshadowing trees, its little brooklet trickling 
modestly along the wayside, and creeping at last under 
the loose, misshapen wall, to be lost in the meadow 
beyond. Its hiding-places and its vistas from the highway 
to the lake were all peopled to my mind with the sighing 
youths and maidens who had paced that path before me. 
As they had reached the shore of the lake whose tinkling 
waters had listened to so many ardent declarations in the 
eventide, so had L The beauty of the spot was enchant- 



596 



THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 



ing. Upon a dead twig overhanging the water a robin 
was pouring forth his evening song. Upon a stone near 
by sat a squirrel, who had just taken his farewell sip of 
the waves, and, bounding away at my approach, found his 
nest in the top of a lofty forest oak, from which, as he 
entered, he chattered to me his saucy and defiant good 
night. In the depths of the wood a partridge was drum- 
ming his last summons for the day to his mate. The 
whippoorwill was still lashing out his evening song 
there ; and still the sound of the plashing oars, and the 
voices of the rowers, came across the placid waters. When 
I reached the spot, I found that I was not there alone. 

Sitting upon the bank, 
and surveying the scene, 
was an old man, who 
seemed to be so absorbed 
in thought that, not until 
I stood by his side, was 
he aware of my presence. 
He arose with a slight 
air of surprise, and ad- 
dressed me with a man- 
ner in which I discovered 
just enough of a brusque and patronizing tone to lead 
me to suspect what might be his professional calling. 
" A charming evening, sir," remarked he. 
" Most delightful ! " I replied. " I have seen nothing 
finer since I was brought here by my parents, a little child, 
many, many years ago." 

" The spot is familiar to you, then, I suppose .'' " said the 
old man. 

"Not exactly," replied I. "And yet I recall it with a 
vividness which I can hardly understand. I know well 
the story of this lane and the shore. One of my father's 
old friends, a bright, accomplished, and energetic gentle- 




DR. PARKER AT THE LAKE. 



TREE PLANTING. — MR. HOPKINS'S WILL. S97 

man, as I am told, often resorted hither for meditation ; 
and they do say he lost his heart here, too." 

" Your father was — " said he, looking eagerly for the 
reply. 

" My father was Henry Sullivan, who left this town long 
ago, and died at sea," I answered. 

" Died at sea," said the old man, " because your sweet 
mother had died on shore before him. And are you the 
boy Henry whose name was the last word uttered by her 
dying lips .-* " 

" I am Henry Sullivan," said I ; " the chronicler of the 
Farm- Yard Club of Jotham, and of the personal adventures 
of this town, as I have gathered them from record and 
tradition. And I shall indeed congratulate myself if I 
have met here Dr. Parker, the old friend of my father and 
mother, whose name I have heard repeated so often in my 
family, and have found, with many an affectionate refer- 
ence, in the papers my parents left behind them. .But if 
you are that old friend, I beg you to excuse the allusion to 
your name, and to an incident in your life which I just 
now carelessly made, and which may have brought painful 
memories to your mind." 

The old man's heart was deeply moved, and he did not 
readily regain self-possession enough to reply, or even to 
recognize my presence. When, however, he was able to 
control his feelings, he beckoned me to place myself beside 
him on his rustic seat, which he had fixed there, and laying 
aside all those peculiarities which a long professional life 
as a physician had given him, he poured forth in the 
kindest and gentlest and tenderest way the story of his 
life. He rehearsed the trials of his petted childhood, the 
obedient affection of his mother, the pride of his father, 
the enervating flattery which surrounded him, his educa- 
tion abroad until he had nearly lost his national character- 
istics, his weakened moral sense, his surrender to tempta- 



598 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

tion, his jealous sensibility, his vanity, and his ignorance 
of the motives and feelings of his fellow-men. It was 
curious and interesting to see how, through all his errors 
and wanderings, he had preserved his conscience and his 
sense of honor. It was sweet to see his childlike nature 
returning to assert itself, as fresh and pure as it was in the 
beginning. He begged me to learn at once the value of 
obedience and humility. " Individuality I admire," said 
he ; " but men ruin themselves by cultivating their eccen- 
tricities, and expecting the whole world to be obedient to 
them. I know how hard it is to resist a wayward impulse, 
a sudden determination to force the current of life about 
you into your own channel ; and I know, too, the misery 
which follows such attempts, even when they are success- 
ful. If the story could be told of the overwhelming re- 
morse which darkens the private hours of him who has 
gratified his revenge, or achieved a mean ambition, the 
victims of these wrongs would ask for no keener punish- 
ment for those who have injured them. I have known 
many a life ruined mentally and physically by the blasting 
heat of violent resentment. I have known many a life to 
be made cheerful and happy and strong by a magnanimous 
and generous desire to forgive, forget, and obey. I am an 
old man now, grateful for the blessings which have been 
showered upon me ; but conscious that my work is but 
half accomplished, and that my talent has been hid, be- 
cause I could not accept, with a generous appreciation, the 
work of those about me, and because I would not look with 
a forgiving eye upon the weaknesses and follies of my 
fellow-men. I have no doubt that, in a larger sphere of 
action, I might have learned my own shortcomings, and 
have been humble ; but a larger sphere I would not seek, 
because I was too proud to have my defects and faults 
exposed. Beware, then, my friend of an intense self-con- 
sciousness. It does not belong to the truly great powers 



TREE PLANTING. — MR. HOPKINS'S WILL. 599 

of the mind, or the great qualities of the heart. But the 
wise and useful and fortunate man is he who, while bravely 
and manfully asserting his own opinion, is receptive of 
the opinions and knowledge of others. Next to the self- 
righteousness of the Pharisee stands the self-conceit of the 
fool. And if you look the world over for the highest 
achievements of genius, you will find them where man has 
forgiven his enemies and denied himself. I think a man 
can be neither a good poet, nor a good orator, nor a good 
statesman, nor a good husband, nor a good father, nor a 
good citizen, without reverence ; and no man can have 
that characteristic who ' thinketh of himself more highly 
than he ought to think.' The world is full of brilliant 
failures, because of our conceit. It is full of sad successes, 
because the Lord will dwell with the humble and the 
lowly and the unfortunate. Pride and wisdom seldom go 
together. Self-conceit, and that love which is the founda- 
tion of all power, and unlocks the gate of heaven, do not 
dwell in the same breast. O, if Fanny could only come 
back to this spot, where we began life together — " 

And here the old man broke down entirely. He never 
finished that sentence, but I knew what his remorse was, 
and I listened with affection and pity, as he rehearsed, 
far into the night, his experiences in Jotham, and spoke 
tenderly of Clara Bell, and generously of Charles Ingalls, 
whom he called " the wise and honest and obedient," and 
reverently of Mr. and Mrs. Howe, and admiringly of Mr. 
Hopkins, and respectfully of John Thomas and his wife 
Huldah, the kind-hearted and Christian, and proudly of his 
intimacy with the intelligent and accomplished scholars of 
the land, and sadly of his own mistakes and faults. His 
voice faltered when he spoke of Mrs. Ilsley, and told how 
blessed to him was the companionship of Margaret and 
her husband, " The Boy." 

The early morning moon was just shining over the hills 



600 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 

as we rose to go, paving a silver pathway across the lake. 
The dew lay heavy on the grass, as the old man leaned 
upon my arm and pursued his way home. When daylight 
came, I left Jotham with my record of the Club, my notes, 
and a new friendship cemented by sacred memories and 
the best impulses of the mind and heart, and feeling that 
my work as the Chronicler of the Club was finished. 




AGRICULTURAL INDEX. 



Agriculture, when profitable, 20. 
Animals, points of beef-producing, 47. 
Apples, the cultivation of, 440. 

" when and how to gather, 443. 

" best varieties of, 444. 
Ashes as a fertilizer, 146. 
Asparagus, the cultivation of, 393. 

Barley, 318. 

Barn, a plan of constructing, 10. 

Beans, the cultivation of, 398. 

Beets, the cultivation of, 399. 

Blackberries, the cultivation of, 427. 

Bones as a fertilizer, 146. 

Breeds, foreign, not all valuable, 36. 

Brown hay, 191. 

Butter-making, 106. 

Cabbages, the cultivation of, 384. 
Calves, Ayrshire mode of raising, 60. 
Carrots, the cultivation of, 269. 

effect of, on animals, 269. 
modes of raising, 400. 
Cattle, statistics of, 30. 

value of pure-bred, 33. 
how to feed, 75. 
what food to give them, 76. 
Cauliflower, the cultivation of, 385. 
Celery, the cultivation of, 393. 
Cheese-making, 107. 
Chess, what it is, 318. 
Chickens, care of, 542. 
Clover, 174. 
Colts, how to break and manage 

them, 567. 
Composting, 122. 
Corn, essay on, 284. 
" soil for, 285. 
" preparation of soil for, 285. 
Corn crop, record of, 287. 
Cows, points of, for the dairy, 45. 
" difficulty of breeding for the 

dairy, 49. 
" mature slowly, 63. 



Cranberries, the cultivation of, 412. 

" mode of gathering, 415. 

Cucumbers, the cultivation of, 375. 
Currants, the cultivation of, 427. 

Dairy, importance of, 32. 
Decomposing manure, 124. 
Diseases of cattle, 72. 
Drainage, 158. 

" applicable to certain lands, 

159- 

" of bog-meadows, 163. 

Drain-tiles, 165. 

" how to lay them, 166. 

Ducks, the breeding and rearing of, 
546. 

Feeding, when profitable, 66. 
Fertilizers, 121. 

" artificial, 152. 

Flowers, the cultivation of, 428. 
Fodder-corn, value of, 80. 
Food for young dairy animals, 60. 

" uniform for cattle, 64. 

" for cows, Horsfall's, 90. 

" the steaming of, 91. 
Fowls, Asiatic, 536. 

" English, 537. 
French, 537. 

" common varieties, 538. 

" proper food for, 541. 

" diseases of, 542. 
Fruit-culture, 437, 
Fruit, profit of, 438. 

Garget caused by improper feeding, 62. 
Geese, the feeding and care of, 545. 
Gooseberries, the cultivation of, 427. 
Grapes, the cultivation of, 467. 

" what vines to choose, 46S. 

" how to set the vines, 469. 

" how to prune the vines, 470. 

" how to keep them, 473. 

" best varieties of, 474. 



602 



THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 



Grass, best time to cut, 175. 

" best varieties of, 174. 

" most nutritive condition of, 1 76. 
Grass-seed, best time to sow, 178. 

" " how to sow, 185. 
Green crops ploughed in for manure, 

151. 

Hay, how to make it, 193. 
Hay crop, value of, 177. 
Harrows, 483. 
Hen-house, plan of, 540. 
Herds-grass, 174. 

Horse, description of a good one, 558. 
" American trotter, what he is, 

558. 
" American trotter, how bred, 

560. 
" Old Messenger and his de- 
scent, 560. 
" Mambrino and his descent, 

560. 
" Abdallah and his descent, 560. 
" list of trotters, and what they 

are, 561. 
" the effect of French blood on 

speed, 563. 
" celebrated instance of the value 

of French blood, 563. 
" how to breed and preserve his 

moral qualities, 564. 
" his physical qualities hard to 

reproduce, 565. 
" how to treat him when young, 

570. 
" how to spoil a young one by 

feeding, 572. 
" how his stable should be built, 

576. 
" how his diseases can be pre- 
vented and cured, 578. 
*' how his unsoundness should 
be dealt with, 580. 
Horse-hoes, 483. 

Hotbeds, how to prepare them, 373. 
Hungarian-grass, the cultivation of, 
186. 

Implements of husbandry, 489. 

Lambs, when to wean, 512. 
Lettuce, the cultivation of, 394. 
Lime as a fertilizer, 149. 

Mangolds, the cultivation of, 396. 
Manure, experiments with, 150. 
Medicine for cattle, 65. 



Melons, the cultivation of, 396. 
Milk-mirror, value of, 104. 
Mowing-machines, 487. 
Muck, when and where to be used, 
123. 

Oat-meal as food for calves, 61. 
Oats as a crop, 310. 

" best food for horses, 311. 

" where they grow best, 313. 

" time to sow, 314. 
Onions, the cultivation of, 382. 
Orchards, when to plant, 438. 

" how to set, 441. 

Organs, fat-producing, 57. 
" milk-secreting, 58. 

Parsnips as a crop, 400. 

" the cultivation of, 271. 
Pasture, a good specimen of a, 238. 
Pasture-lands, 220. 
Pastures, how to restore them, 221. 

" when to plough them, 223. 

" how to fertilize, 224. 

" how to manage them, 233. 
Peaches, the cultivation of, 453. 
Pears, " 449. 

" best varieties, 448. 
Peas, the cultivation of, 397, 
Ploughs, 478 

" how to construct them, 481. 
Potatoes, soil for, 337. 

" manure for, 338. 

" how to raise them, 343. 

" the best for seed, 343. 
Poultry, 535. 

Raspberries, the cultivation of, 427. 

Redtop, 174. 

Rhubarb, the cultivation of, 397. 

Root crops, 252. 

Rowen for calves, 61. 

Ruta-bagas, the cultivation of, 255. 

Rye, 319. 

Sand, use of, for composting, 123. 
Sheep husbandry, 505. 

" various breeds of, 508. 

" how to feed, 510. 

" diseases of, 512. 
Soiling, value of, 93. 
Soils, the mixing of, 125. 
Squashes, the cultivation of, 395. 
Steaming food, value of, 91. 
Strawberries, the cultivation of, 425. 
Swedish turnips, essay on, 267. 
Swine, 527. 



AGRICULTURAL INDEX. 



603 



Swine, best breeds of, 529. 

" how to house and feed, 530. 

Tomatoes, the cultivation of, 396. 
Top-dressing, experiments in, 149. 
Turnips for calves, 61. 

" for horses, 78. 

" the cultivation of, 77. 



Turnips, essay on, 399. 

Wheat, essay on, 314. 
" soil for, 315. 
" manure for, 315. 
" how to destroy its parasites, 

316. 
" when to be sown, 316. 
" smut of, 317. 



THE END. 



OtPARTW^ 



/ 



^-TBRA-^i 



.\x 



LIBRARY 



0DDE774D71b 










